Saints and Saviors
by EnchantedApril
Summary: Cameron has quit, but she returns to the hospital under unfortunate circumstances and House is forced to confront his feelings for her along with dealing with Vogler, Cuddy and the rest of his staff at PPTH. EPILOGUE IS UP...COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Saints and Saviors

By Enchanted April

Chapter 1

The sun had set an hour ago but House continued staring out his office window as if watching the last rays cut across the sky. He hadn't bothered to turn on any lights, and the only illumination came from the fluorescents in the hall. His image reflected back to him in the window and he tried to focus through it to the pinpoints of light flickering on throughout the city. One of them was hers. When the hell had he become such an insufferable sap?

She'd been gone for two weeks. Hadn't called. Hadn't emailed. Hadn't stopped by the hospital. She'd made a clean break. It was more than he could say for himself. He had been hoping for more cases. Disease, infection, biopsies, drug interactions, necrosis, anything to keep busy. He hadn't thought about how strange it would be working any case at all with her gone, and every day he was pissed at himself for missing her. He'd made his choice. She'd made hers. They were both right, damn it. Unfortunately right and wrong had blurred the first time she'd responded to one of his acidic barbs with a gentle comment and the expression of a wounded Madonna.

A knock at the door and he was thrown back to the memory of Cameron's insistent knocking. He shouldn't have answered that door. This time he didn't have a choice. These walls were glass and whoever was out there could see him. He turned around in time to see Cuddy letting herself in. He was only mildly surprised that she hadn't just barged in. She'd cut him a lot of slack over the past couple of weeks. Actually everyone but Vogler had been giving him a wide berth. Vogler had just gotten worse. Cameron was gone and that bastard was still making his life miserable. Of course that stood to reason after the speech at the conference.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" House launched right into bantering. It was comfortable and familiar. "You're lucky you caught me actually. My moping hours are only from six to eight you know."

Cuddy looked distinctly uncomfortable. Her face was drawn and her mouth set in a grim line. House leaned forward, wondering what Vogler had done this time.

"We've got a gunshot victim coming in by ambulance. The call just came in."

House shrugged. "And you're telling me because you think I'd enjoy hearing about it? Got any stories about mothers selling their kids and puppies drowning in rivers, because I can't get enough of them either."

"Greg, it's Cameron."

The sarcastic comeback died on his lips and his jaw went slack.

"It looks like she was attacked outside her apartment. Her landlord heard the shots and called it in." She was still trying to be gentle, but it was lost on House.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Pretend nonchalance or push past Cuddy and race for the elevator? The decision didn't seem to be his to make, because his body was already moving, cane thumping hard against the floor as he moved as fast as he could. Cuddy almost had to run to keep up.

They beat the ambulance but just barely. Two young, able-bodied EMTs were lifting the gurney out and the ER attending was shouting for a nurse to get two bags of O negative and a saline drip. House could see how serious it was from ten feet away. Jesus, there was a lot of blood. How the hell long had it taken the ambulance to get there? Then his eyes moved to her face and he felt his senses leave him again. Cameron was looking at him with such an expression of relief, as if she expected that he would be able to fix everything. Her lips were moving and he knew she was saying his name. He pushed his way to her side shouting out that he was a doctor to anyone who cared.

"Hell of a way to come for a visit," he resorted to quips.

Cameron was too lightheaded to even notice. She just knew he was there and he was talking to her and she gathered her energy and focused on his face. "Don't leave me," she murmured, the words half garbled, but he heard them perfectly. They were the words he was repeating in his head.

"No, I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her and then felt every muscle in his body contract as her eyes slid closed.

They'd tried to get him to leave. Apparently he needed to work on his reputation. There were still a few people who didn't tremble in his presence. As usual, Cuddy was there to say a few words to the right people in her low, cajoling voice. It would have taken security to drag him out, but he still appreciated the gesture. Maybe he'd even thank her.

The ER team was competent enough, but fucking Nihquist was the attending. Smarmy bastard. House knew him well enough to avoid him whenever possible and now the little shit was working on Cameron. House stayed by her head, not touching her, just staring at her and struggling to keep himself from shouting out orders.

There was an intern working on her too, and House wanted to hit him across the shins with his cane when he took too long intubating her and then suggested exactly the wrong drug when asked what the next step was. He wanted to hit him almost as hard as he wanted to kick Nihquist in the balls for treating Cameron like any other teaching case. The jackass seemed almost bored by the whole thing, right up until the heart monitor went flat and its alarm bounced off the cold tile walls. One of the nurses made the unnecessary announcement that Cameron was crashing and Nihquist finally pushed the intern aside and took over with manual chest compressions.

House concentrated on breathing and staring at Cameron's face. He didn't trust himself to speak. Hell, he didn't know what to say.

The alarm kept blaring and Nihquist kept working, calling for a crash-cart and trying to shock the life back into the woman in front of him. House had never thought about how grotesque it looked when three - hundred volts sent a body arcing into the air.

Shock. Pump. Shock. Pump. Another amp of epi. Shock. Pump. And House kept breathing and clenching his fists as the minutes passed. He only looked up when Nihquist ripped off his gloves and tossed them into the basket in the corner.

"We've lost her. The bullet must have pierced the heart. I'm calling it."

House heard him talking but the words didn't register until he followed them up with, "Time of death…"

"What?" House shouted as he launched into action and pushed his way around to the side of the table. "She's not fucking dead yet! It's been less than ten minutes!" He started doing chest compressions himself but stopped as a gush of blood spurted through the bullet wound. "And unless hearts recently relocated three inches to the left the damn bullet didn't hit it. It didn't hit the heart, it nicked an artery," he was still yelling as he grabbed a scalpel off the tray beside him.

He knew who he was cutting into. Rationally, emotionally, he knew he was slicing open one of the few people who mattered to him, but he couldn't let himself think that way. She had to remain just a body; a body that could still be saved. He could hear the ER doctor shouting at him but again, the words didn't register. By the time security got there he'd be half-way to her heart.

"Get me the fucking spreaders," he barked at the hapless intern standing behind him. A second later and they were being slapped into his hand. He didn't even wince at the sickening cracking sound as Cameron's chest was broken open and laid bare before him. Her heart was still and he reached in and wrapped his hand around it, pumping gently, moving her blood the only way he could. More blood poured out and he pointed.

"There! Right there! It's not the heart, morons, it's the artery. You! Get in here and put your hand around her heart and don't even think about moving," he was shouting at the intern again, and the poor boy looked shell-shocked as he rushed to obey.

House moved his deft fingers to the damaged artery and gently held it together. He was thanking God that the gun hadn't been a higher caliber. Anything bigger and the artery would have been shredded beyond repair. "Alright, now pump a few times. I want to get some blood flowing so she doesn't end up a vegetable."

The intern obeyed and this time the blood that leaked out was only a trickle. House turned to shout at the nurse but she was already there with a needle ready. He raised one eyebrow in appreciation and quickly repaired what he could. It was a shoddy job and he knew it, but it would hold until she could get to surgery.

"Paddles!" He shouted, and again the nurse was already there with long internal paddles.

"Charging," she announced as House pressed the circular pads to Cameron's heart. "Clear!"

Her body didn't rise off the table, but her heart jerked to life, pumping erratically at first and then evening out. House tried to remember the last time he'd seen something so miraculous and actually considered it miraculous. He turned and dropped the paddles back onto the crash cart.

"You can finish up, buddy," he said as he limped past the irate ER doctor.

* * *

He didn't turn around to see the rest of the staff crowding around Cameron's bed. He didn't want the image of her open chest burned into his retinas any more than it already was. Instead, he ripped off the flimsy gown he'd been given and tossed it in the trash. He needed to get to a sink. His hands were covered in her blood.

Three a. m. was a frighteningly quiet time in I.C.U. and House wished that someone besides the nurses would come by. Having someone he could yell at would take the edge off. Nihquist or Vogler sprang immediately to mind. Sitting around helplessly wasn't something he was particularly good at, but he forced himself to remain in the chair, one hand tapping against his good leg the only outward sign of his discomfiture. She'd been out of surgery for hours and still hadn't woken up. It wasn't unheard of, hell it wasn't even uncommon, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He tapped a little faster and then caught sight of the smallest movement out of the corner of his eye. It was followed by a shaky breath and a low moan.

"Cameron?" He turned all his attention to her face. She was still too pale and her eyes were sunken, with dark circles beneath them, but he ignored all that and willed those eyes to open. "Cameron, can you hear me?" his tone was brusque; as if he had just poked his head into the lab to demand some test results from her.

She grimaced but her eyes gradually opened half-way, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks a few times before she managed to focus. "House?" It was both confusing and comforting to see him hovering over her.

"You're in the hospital. You were attacked. Do you remember?"

Her brows furrowed as she struggled to climb up through the fog of unconsciousness. "At my place?"

"That's right. The bastard shot you in the driveway." His words came out harsher than he intended.

"I remember," she said slowly with a voice raspy and hoarse from intubation. "I didn't have time to scream." As those moments of terror rushed through her mind she started to shake a little and took a deep breath, crying out when the action sent pain lancing through her.

House looked apologetic and met her questioning gaze. "We had to crack your chest to stop the bleeding."

She blinked a few times and frowned. "We? You were there?" As she finished speaking she lifted a shaky hand and pulled the sheet and gown away from her chest, looking downwards to see the row of stitches, dark and hideous running the length of her chest. Apparently they had decided that since she was a doctor she didn't need the niceties of a bandage that was really only meant to keep patients from getting too upset when they saw themselves. She forced herself to look away and looked up at House instead. "You were there?" she repeated. Her voice was louder but still barely above a whisper.

He hadn't known what to expect after telling her the seriousness of her injuries, but he was still surprised at her reaction. He could see in her eyes that she was angry. She almost never got angry, especially at him.

"Well, yes, if by 'there' you mean in the room."

"Did you work on me?" she asked pointedly and her voice, weak as it was, seemed to kick up a notch.

"In rather an unofficial way, you could say that." All of a sudden he felt awkward and gawky, like a pimply-faced sixteen-year-old standing in the presence of the prom queen. "You probably don't remember, but with your last words you asked me to stay."

"Yes… stay… like a normal friend. In the waiting room… not cutting me open… seeing me like that." Her words were halting and shaky. House wasn't sure if he should be glad or not as he watched some color return to her face. "But I forgot that we aren't friends and you don't even like me." She took a painfully long breath. "I should have expected that you'd only stick around if it was an interesting presentation." Her eyes, always so expressive, weren't accusing or angry anymore. They were deeply, painfully disappointed and that was infinitely worse than angry.

For the first time in recent memory House was dumbstruck. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. He stared at Cameron as she turned her face away from him; watched as she shuddered when a wave of pain coursed over her. He stared for at least a minute, waiting for her to turn back, but she didn't. Eventually words returned. Easy, professional words.

"They only gave you demerol after surgery. That shit wouldn't relieve a papercut. I'll have the nurse set up a morphine drip. You don't need to be in pain." He pressed his lips together as his own words mocked him. She was going to be in pain with or without the morphine.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Allison Cameron's eyes were shut tight against the afternoon sun, but that didn't keep it from flashing bright orange and red color spots on the insides of her eyelids. She thought about ringing for the nurse and asking her to close the blinds but she knew how hard the nurses worked and felt guilty asking them to play maid and butler as well. She also wasn't sure that she really wanted to go back to sleep.

After the initial recovery from surgery they'd kept her heavily sedated in the I.C.U. for over twelve hours even though everything appeared to be going well. They'd finally brought her to a regular room just about an hour ago. They'd started decreasing the sedation just before that, and she felt the need to try and regain some control and stay lucid for as long as possible.

Dr. Cuddy had been with her during the move from I.C.U. to the fourth floor room in the cardiology wing. It was a private room, and Cameron had thanked her for that, but Cuddy had brushed it off. Cameron still couldn't quite get a handle on that woman.

The room was nice enough, with a view out over the city. There was a small round table in the corner, flanked by two upholstered chairs, and a chest of drawers was opposite the bed. Cable tv, room service, private bath. It could have been a non-descript hotel room if not for the other pieces of "furniture". They consisted of a large cart housing a constantly beeping heart monitor, an IV stand that never had fewer than three bags hanging and an oxygen tank that sent a thin stream of air into her nostrils. It was supposed to cut down on her need to take deep breaths, but she just found it annoying. No, teal upholstery and flowered drapes couldn't quite offset the pain. Maybe it was about time to call the nurse and drift back to sleep after all. He wasn't going to come back.

There was a short, hard rap against the heavy wooden door, and Cameron looked up sharply as the door eased open, then relaxed against her pillows when she saw who it was. Foreman carried a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a magazine in the other.

"Hey there," he greeted her amiably. "You look like crap."

She rolled her eyes but smirked at him. "Thanks a lot… just what a girl loves to hear."

"I hear Chase beat me here, but I bet he didn't come bearing flowers," he continued his bantering tone as he stepped closer to the bed.

Cameron looked pointedly towards the corner and Foreman turned to see a vase with at least two dozen pink roses balanced on the windowsill. He turned back to her and shrugged.

"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Thinking back to how Chase had been acting for the past few weeks, Cameron was forced to agree. "Definitely. I think there's still some water in the pitcher." She nodded towards the bedside table.

Foreman managed to arrange the flowers and then sat down in the chair next to the bed. He had been sorely tempted to pick up her chart and start reading, but nixed that idea. He couldn't help himself from reaching out and glancing over the paper readout from the heart machine that was keeping time beside him.

"I make a great show-and-tell exhibit now," she said dryly.

Foreman quickly dropped the readout and looked at her somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Yeah, and not just for you," she muttered.

He decided to ignore that random statement and instead handed over the magazine that had been rolled up in his fist. "Hey, I brought you some reading material."

She glanced at the cover. "Ooh… New England Journal of Medicine. Be still my beating heart." Almost immediately she realized the irony of her words and fell silent.

Foreman picked up on it as well but wasn't sure how to respond. His bedside manner was great when it came to strangers but he was discovering that when it was someone he knew it was a lot harder to maintain that air of caring professionalism.

"How're you feeling? Honestly."

Her eyes narrowed. "Writing a paper on patient rehab?" she asked.

"No, I'm trying to be sympathetic."

The sincerity of his words was easy to hear and she let out a sigh, wincing at the pain it caused. "Not that great, honestly," she replied.

"You want me to tell the nurse to up your meds?"

She shook her head. "I've been in a daze for long enough. Anyway, Dr. House had them set up this self-medicating drip. If it gets too bad I can just about knock myself out," she said, trying to make light of it.

"Don't be afraid to use it," Foreman advised.

Silence fell as Cameron tried to weigh her options. House hadn't been back since she'd basically thrown him out. At least if he'd come back it had been while she'd been passed out on morphine. Part of her was still saying 'fuck him', but the larger part was saying the same thing with a much different meaning.

She riffled the pages of the magazine and didn't look up as she asked, "So, have you seen Dr. House today?"

Foreman's expression became more animated, like a kid with a story to tell. "He's been in a review board meeting most of the afternoon. He saves your life and he's the one in trouble. Even Cuddy couldn't keep the board from calling the meeting." He stopped when he saw the look of confusion on Cameron's face.

"He's the one who saved me?"

"Oh shit." Foreman rolled his eyes. It was too damn late to backpedal now. "I figured Cuddy or Wilson would have spilled the beans."

"Cuddy was only here for a minute, and I haven't seen Dr. Wilson," Cameron explained. "Now what's going on with the review board?" She was in pain and could feel her strength waning. She didn't have time to pester the information out of him.

For a second it looked like Foreman was going to clam up and tell her to ask someone else, and he was, but one look in her eyes made him change his mind.

"You coded about five minutes after they brought you in from the ambulance," he stated without preamble, ignoring the new expression those words brought to her face. "House had insisted on going in with you and when the ER doc started calling time of death I guess he freaked out or something. He pushed the attending out of the way and took over, ordering some intern around like a drill sergeant." Foreman shook his head thinking about the balls it took to act like that. "He was right though. He massaged your heart by hand and then ordered the intern to do it while he did a patch job. But that's not the best part. The best part is that the ER doc was Nihquist." Cameron knew the man by reputation. He was supposed to be almost as hard-assed as House but slightly easier to control. "You can bet he wasn't happy when House swooped in and saved you after not touching a patient for almost ten years."

By the time Foreman finished his narrative his eyes were almost glowing. Then he seemed to remember that the patient in question was sitting right in front of him struggling to take slow, even breaths. He shook his head again and set his expression back to one of professional courtesy.

"He didn't tell me any of that," Cameron murmured.

"Yeah, well you were probably pretty out of it when he saw you. He was probably waiting for you to be a little more with it so you'd be suitably awed." The sarcasm in his voice was light but unmistakable.

Pumped full of medication, hooked up to machines, barely controlling her pain, and still she felt forced into the defensive position. "He's really not like that," she said, daring Foreman to contradict an almost-dying woman.

He did the right thing and backed down. "Yeah, well, whatever. He saved your life. I know that much."

* * *

It was busy on the fourth floor and Wilson had to maneuver around a flower cart, four nurses and a huddled group of people waiting outside one patient's door before he could get to Cameron's room. A nurse had sent him an urgent page telling him to meet her there. He wasn't exactly sure why. Cardiology wasn't his specialty and he hadn't been consulted on her case although he'd checked on her progress a few times… mainly to report it to House. Four-twelve. That was her room, and he gave a peremptory knock before opening the door and walking in. Cameron was propped up and looking at him expectantly. Confusion played across his features and he looked around for the nurse who had paged him.

Then his confusion cleared and he shook his head. "So now you have the nurses wrapped around your little finger too?" he said with a slight chuckle.

"I needed to talk to you," she replied, blue eyes silently asking him to hear her out.

For not the first time, Dr. James Wilson regretted both his current married status and the fact that the woman in front of him was currently in a one-way relationship with his best friend.

"I'm guessing this doesn't have anything to do with how you're feeling."

She shook her head. "I need you to talk to him for me."

A single bark of laughter was his response before pulling himself together and meeting her serious gaze. "Sorry. I had a sudden flashback to high school."

Cameron sighed, and her face was an open book of emotions. "I know. I'm sorry to drag you into it."

"So tell me, Dr. Cameron, why do you need me to talk to Greg? I admit I haven't seen him for more than five minutes at a stretch since you were brought in, but I did ask if he'd seen you after surgery, and he said yes."

Her frown deepened. "Yes, he saw me, but I said some things I shouldn't have… it seems to be a regular thing for me… and now I just…" she sighed again, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I want to fix things. That's all. And thank him."

Wilson stepped closer to the bed and crossed his arms. "This will be the second favor I've done for you," he said, with a grin and she knew he was referring to the non-date and not stepping forward to talk to those parents when she'd frozen.

"I know, and I appreciate it."

"I've had moments of regretting that first favor," he continued as the grin disappeared. "House isn't like other men. You have to know that."

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I know that."

"I'll talk to him."

* * *

The nurse on duty had told him that she'd fallen asleep and he was grateful. He could slip in, check her chart, and slip back out without her ever seeing him. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the brushed metal handle.

"You going in or are you just going to hover in the hall all night?"

It was Wilson, and House glared at him for a beat before relaxing his expression to something closer to what he was actually feeling. "Undecided, actually. Both options have some benefits. Go in and see a girl half dead in a hospital bed… always good for some laughs… or pace out here and imagine said girl, half dead in a hospital bed."

Wilson gave him his customary sympathetic look. "Sounds like an easy choice to me. Hell, you won't even have to think of any witty repartee while you visit."

House's mouth twisted into a sardonic version of a frown. "I think she's had more than she wants of that."

Cameron was right. He was planning on staying away. Wilson hid his surprise behind a sympathetic expression. It had been a long time since he'd seen Greg care enough to stifle his need to be right.

"I think you'd be surprised," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. "She's tougher than she looks. Even tough enough to handle you."

"You seem to forget that she quit to get away from me."

"We both know that need had nothing to do with desire in that scenario," Wilson countered.

"Outcome was the same. And just for the record, apparently seeing a woman naked with her chest cut open changes how they feel about you."

An indulgent smile crossed Wilson's face. "So now you're basing your actions on what a woman tells you when she's heavily sedated and barely conscious? Somehow that feels like a step backward, even for you."

House glared at him again and looked like he was going to turn and walk away.

"Just go in. She's asleep. She'll never know what a softy you're becoming."

House opened his mouth to make a snide comment, but Wilson had already turned his back. He shook his head in irritation instead and popped two vicodin into his mouth. Then he grabbed the door handle and finally opened the door.

He supposed that he should have been surprised and horrified to see her lying helpless in the bed, attached to multiple IVs, a heart monitor and oxygen tank, but he was just too jaded to be shocked. He knew the damage her body had taken. Hell, he had inflicted some of it. He would have been more surprised to see any of those machines absent.

He limped over to the side of the bed and used his cane to hook the leg of a nearby chair and drag across the floor. He eased himself down into it and then glanced at the foot of her bed. Her chart was hanging there. That was supposedly what he'd come in to look at. Oh hell, he was only kidding himself. He inched the chair closer and stared up at her face, watching her breathe. It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Her hand was slightly closed but he eased his fingers into her grasp to rest against her warm palm and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, tracing the blue vein, starkly visible through her almost translucent skin. He paused to rub gently over a darkening bruise; the entry point from an IV line during surgery. Slowly he let his head droop forward into his other hand. He had stood with his hands in her chest, wrapped around her very heart, but this was the first time he had ever touched her skin. Well, unless you counted the times he had allowed their fingers to brush for a millisecond of time as she handed him his coffee. Somehow it wasn't the same.

The heart monitor beeped in a slow, regular rhythm, but he couldn't decide if the sound was comforting or ominous. Its very presence was a testament to the fact that Cameron's surgeon was worried that there could still be bleeding and her heart could stop again. House shook his head. He didn't want to think about that and went back to tracing the blue vein and contemplating how soft her skin was. It was softer than he'd imagined.

Her hand tightened and he looked up to see her flinching in her sleep as she took a breath. A quick glance at the morphine drip and he saw that she hadn't yet reached the self-dosing limit. He reached across her body to get the control and clicked it twice, sending a stronger dose of painkiller into her system and hoping that she would sleep through the night. When he leaned back and looked up into her face he was startled to see her caring eyes staring back at him.

"Trying to get me addicted to pain meds?" she asked, with some effort.

"You… I…" he was stammering. He never stammered. He paused for only a moment and his mask slid back in place. "Why yes. You know how misery loves company and all that."

He waited for some sort of comeback, or the slightly girlish smile she sometimes tossed his way after a sarcastic remark. It was a smile that told him she could tell he didn't really mean what he was saying. Sometimes she was right, and sometimes she was wrong, but he was always a little worried when she didn't throw that smile. She wasn't smiling now. In fact her expression grew very serious but House kept up the eye contact. Finally he was the one to break the silence.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I'm not sorry about going in with you, but I probably shouldn't have told you about it the way I did. It was highly insensitive… and you know what a sensitive guy I am." He turned and studied the pattern on her blanket rather than look into her face.

Cameron could now count on one finger the number of times House had apologized to her, and this was one time when he hadn't needed to.

"You saved my life."

He looked up at her and blinked dumbly for a moment. That was twice in one day she'd struck him speechless. "So, someone's been telling tales out of school. Let me guess… was it Cuddy? No… Wilson. He's always been a sentimental fool."

The corner of her mouth curled up slightly. "Actually it was Foreman."

"Ah, yes. Of course. He would be the one to relay a medical procedure as if it was a winning play in the Superbowl."

"So I'm the one who should apologize. I sounded like an ungrateful brat. I want to apologize for something else too… for what I asked you… the way I've acted…" she didn't need to specify. They both knew what she meant. "I was acting like a pesky ninth grader."

"Not pesky… earnest," he corrected almost gently, "and I'd say closer to tenth."

Her wistful smile made him look away.

"Anyway, I haven't liked anyone in almost ten years. You know that. With the possible exception of Wilson, and that's only because he was grand-fathered in. I've known him for twenty." He gave a quick, half-grin as if trying to ease the sting of words spoken weeks ago.

"You don't have to explain. It was a stupid, unprofessional question."

Diminishing her own feelings with her words caused an ache deep in her chest, and it wasn't related to her injuries. What she felt wasn't just some schoolgirl crush. She hadn't quit a job she loved because of a temporary hormonal boost. But it was obvious that he couldn't handle that, and right now it was more important to her to let him be comfortable and at her side than uncomfortable and gone.

"Well I've been a professional for a lot longer than you and I wouldn't call myself a role-model." Another joke, meant to deflect her current line of conversation.

"I just wanted to clear the air. That's all."

"Fine. Consider it cleared."

Her eyes were starting to get the glazed over look indicative of the morphine taking hold. She blinked a few times as if to clear her vision.

"You should sleep."

"You shouldn't have upped the morphine," she murmured.

"You're right. You were only cut open from stem to sternum and spread open like a butterflied steak. Wouldn't want to take the edge off any pain that might have caused," he shot back.

Her expression changed from one of drugged weariness to one of horror. House mentally slapped himself.

"Sorry. I can't be Mr. Sensitive all the time." When she didn't reply he went on. "You really should sleep."

He was right of course. She appeared to be thinking hard and she was. Should she sound like an earnest ninth… no, tenth… grader again and pathetically ask him to sit with her for a while? Damn it, the drugs were making it even harder to decide. Pathetic or lonely? Which was worse? Hell, he probably wouldn't stay anyway.

"I said you should sleep," House repeated again. "That usually involves closing your eyes. Maybe I should stick around and make sure you know how to do that."

She didn't smile at him, but the look she gave him made him glad that he'd spoken.

"If you don't mind," she replied. "Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course. I'm not going to be some voyeur watching your every breath," he lied.

She nodded her head as her eyes drifted closed. "'Course not. Not your style."

House moved his chair an inch closer. He was relatively sure that he could tell the moment she fell asleep. He picked up her hand again in the moment following. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His leg wasn't going to be speaking to him in the morning but at the moment he didn't give a damn.


	3. Chapter 3

_A brief thank-you to everyone who has reviewed! I'm very glad you are enjoying it!_

_Oh... and I'm going to fix that little technical problem... thanks for the heads-up! Any other fact-checking or criticism is warmly welcomed._

Chapter 3

Sitting in his office, surrounded by paperwork, Bohemian Rhapsody blaring through his computer speakers, it was difficult to believe that the past day and a half was a part of reality. Forty-eight hours ago he'd been trying to adjust to the fact that he would most likely never see Dr. Allison Cameron again. Now she was lying two floors above him and he was the reason she was still alive.

He didn't think that with any sense of smug superiority, but rather intense, nearly mind-boggling relief. If he hadn't been sulking in his office. If Cuddy hadn't gotten the call. If she hadn't immediately told him about it. If Cameron had been taken to another hospital. If. If. If. A person could go insane thinking about the multitude of seemingly random circumstances that could make the difference in a life or death situation.

A brief memory pushed its way into his thoughts. He was thirteen and his mother was in the hospital. Cancer, his father had told him but had never specified what kind. Now that he was older he suspected that it must have been ovarian. He remembered his father sitting him down. Explaining things to him. He'd been very pragmatic. "Son, right now there's nothing we can do. It's not up to us to save her."

To a thirteen-year-old, those words had seemed like the coldest, harshest words ever spoken, but he'd been right. She'd ended up recovering. She'd even outlived her husband by almost ten years. Still, House had never forgotten those words. He'd never wanted to be in that situation again. That was impossible, of course. Over the years he'd lived through variations of that scenario a hundred times. But not this time. This time it had been up to him, and this time, he'd been there to do something.

The song ended and another one started, but he shook his head and turned it down. He wasn't in the mood for anything slow. The pile of mail in his inbox was about to topple under its own weight. Well, he'd have plenty of time to deal with that. He'd been ignoring it since Cameron had left. Sorting through the crap was something she did well and something he despised. With a long-suffering sigh he picked up the top half of the stack and started sorting it into two piles: definitely crap and probably crap.

He didn't bother to look up when Cuddy walked in.

"Did you leave this on my desk?" she asked, holding up a computer printout and a credit card.

"Unless someone recently stole my identity, yes," he replied, still not looking up.

"How did you even get this? Patient records are supposed to be confidential."

House smirked and gave her a look she'd seen a dozen times before. "And since when has hospital policy ever stopped me? If I recall correctly, my ability to get around the system is one of the things you love about me."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"And your credit card?"

"It's good. Charge away."

"You want me to put over ten thousand dollars worth of medical bills on your American Express card?"

A sarcastic reply was on the tip of his tongue but for once, he held back. "Yep, that's exactly what I want. Oh, and if you could just have the rest of those bills sent directly to me, that would be keen."

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy centered herself and forced herself to remember that she was supposed to be the rational one. "House, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

He was wishing he'd gone with the sarcastic reply. "Look, she doesn't have another job yet. Even if she elected COBRA benefits the bills would be crippling. She'll already be paying off student loans until she's geriatric."

Cuddy shook her head again, trying to adjust to this new, semi-benevolent version of House. "She's not going to let you do this. You know that."

"Well yes, that's the other thing I need you to do for me. Explain to her why there isn't any bill. Lie, if necessary… and it will be necessary. Tell her that her coverage extended to the end of the month or something. I'm sure you can get creative when the mood strikes you." He raised one eyebrow in a lascivious smirk.

She tossed the bill and the card onto his desk. "Maybe I'll see what I can do to make that the truth," she said. "Save your money. You may end up needing it more than her." Her tone was serious but almost sympathetic.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll manage to muddle through."

"You know you aren't even supposed to be here."

"Au contraire. I'm not allowed to work on patients. I can spend as much time here in the hospital as my little heart desires."

She didn't bother to argue with him, and he was actually grateful for that. He wasn't in the mood to explain that the hospital without patients was still better than his apartment with nothing.

* * *

Cameron was hurting, bored and lonely; not exactly the best combination for someone recovering from major surgery. She was happy to be alive, of course, happy and incredibly grateful, but unfortunately human nature made dwelling on the bad much easier than celebrating the good, no matter how good it was.

The heart monitor and oxygen tank were gone but the IV remained. Some of her lab results had shown the possible beginnings of an infection so now in addition to extra fluids they were pumping her full of antibiotics. She was at least grateful that the morphine drip was gone, replaced by shots of Demerol. They made her a little drowsy, but it was nothing compared to the morphine.

She took a cautious breath, slowly filling her chest to the point where the pain took over. It was frustrating not to be able to breathe deeply. Hell, it was frustrating to be eating hospital jello, peeing in a pan and counting the ceiling tiles for entertainment. The television was droning on in the background, but constantly flipping the channels had given her a headache so it was mainly on to cut the unbearable silence that filled the room otherwise.

After a lot of in-mind-debating she'd finally called her parents and told them what had happened. They'd wanted to fly right out, but she'd managed to dissuade them. Cameron loved them, but they owned a dairy farm out in the Midwest. Who could they get to look after it? Damn, and if House ever found out that she was raised on a farm, surrounded by animals and family he'd be even more sarcastic about her innate niceness.

Sometimes she even made herself sick. She was like a walking, talking stereotype of the sweet girl-next door, and when she tried to be wild and crazy some of that purity still managed to slipped in. Hell, she'd faced off with House a few times, but he still got the last word ninety percent of the time. She mentally rolled her eyes. Maybe she just needed more practice.

She let her head fall back against the pillows and sighed. Honestly, she hadn't just been worried about who they'd get to watch the farm. She had been worried about the hundred and one conversations that she didn't want to have, chief among them the "why did you quit?" harangue and the "you just tell me who he is and I'll take care of it" possessive rant.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the chair he'd sat in last night. He'd been gone by morning of course, and she wondered how long he'd ended up sitting with her. An hour? Two? Did she dare to think about the possibility that it had been longer?

Would he be back? When? Maybe she could page Wilson again. God, she really did feel like she was back in high school again. She could practically smell the hairspray and the oxyclean. She'd already apologized once. The last thing she needed to do was start the whole damn cycle over again. But he hadn't been able to shake her hand. And he'd sat with her last night. That had to mean something, didn't it?

She hadn't had a chance to ask him about the review board, not that he'd tell her anything anyway. Maybe Foreman or Chase would stop by and she could ask them. Chase would be only too happy to relay bad news. She tried to remember when he'd started changing into an insufferable prick. It was difficult to pinpoint and exact date.

A cheerful knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Yes, the knock had actually sounded cheerful. It had to be one of the nurses. She didn't tell her to come in but the door opened anyway.

"How are you feeling?" It was Heather, one of the younger nurses and Cameron liked her.

"Not bad. Not woozy for a change."

Heather laughed. "Not bad? Man, you're the biggest liar on the floor!"

"All right, not that great either."

"Dr. Fraser wants you to walk around a little bit. You think you're up for that?"

She really wasn't but it beat lying in bed alone. "Sure, I'll give it a try."

"Here, you may want to put this on first. I'll give you a hand. It was left for you at the nurses' station." She handed over a plastic bag from Tower Records.

Cameron's confusion was quickly followed by a tight, nervous feeling in her chest as she opened the bag and saw her favorite nightgown with her hairbrush resting on top of it. Had he gone to her apartment? Had he been there looking for things to make her feel more comfortable? The nightgown had been hanging on a hook on the back of her bathroom door, and her brush was always on the counter.

"My nightgown," she muttered without realizing it.

"Yeah, Dr. Foreman said he thought you'd want it."

Foreman. Right. Of course. He and Chase had been over to her apartment plenty of times. It was the closest one to the hospital and particularly convenient when they needed to crash for a few hours during an urgent case. The combination of nerves and excitement vanished, replaced by an inevitable stab of disappointment. She mentally marked off 'hopeless romantic' on her good girl check-list.

"Yes," she replied, "definitely better than hospital issue."

"Yeah, those don't leave much to the imagination when you're walking around. I'll give you a hand and then we'll see how far you feel like going."

She didn't feel like going anywhere. Well maybe home. Home would be nice. Except that it was even quieter and lonelier there. She knew the drill. They'd probably keep her in the hospital for another three or four days but even after she was released she wasn't going to be able to do much. Not that she had much to do. She had her resume out to every hospital in New England, but it had only been a few weeks. It could be weeks more before she heard anything. Damn, and here she was racking up the bills. She could almost see her savings dripping from the IV and into her arm.

Cameron took nightgown out of the bag and Heather moved to untie the chintzy hospital gown. At least it would be nice to be able to use the bathroom and stretch her legs. It would hurt like hell, but that wasn't exactly a change from how she was already feeling.

It took some time and maneuvering to get changed, and by the time Cameron put her feet on the floor she was already feeling tired and winded. The cool cotton of her nightgown felt nice against her skin, though, and standing up relieved kinks in her back that she hadn't realized were there. She swayed just a bit and reached out to grab the IV stand.

Heather was at her side and put a supportive hand at her back. "We'll just try going down the hall a ways and see how far you feel like going. Let me know if you need to stop."

Cameron nodded. "Thanks. I know the drill."

"Right. Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you're a doctor. Down in Dr. House's department, right? What's he like to work with? I almost bumped into him in the elevator one morning and he practically took my head off."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Cameron replied with a wry grin as she moved one foot in front of the other until they were finally out of the room.

"So he's like that all the time? How do you stand it?"

The stitches were pulling across her chest, and her legs felt like they hadn't been used in weeks rather than days, but Heather's question made her more uncomfortable than any of her physical aches. "I'm actually not working for him anymore," she said, attempting to keep her tone flat and neutral, "but he wasn't that bad. He was actually great to work for."

Whether it was the tone of Cameron's voice or just some indefinable womanly sixth sense, Heather spotted a sore point and quickly backed away from it. "The weather's really warmed up over the past few days. If you're feeling up to it we can take the elevator and go up to the patient garden."

The rooftop garden was built for patient comfort, with potted trees, plants, raised garden beds, wide benches, comfortable chairs and a high wall all around to keep out much of the wind. Cameron had been up there a few times when the stress had started to get to her. It was more private than the lounge and a hell of a lot prettier. The elevator was just at the end of the hall and she gauged her waning strength.

"Sure. I think I can make it," she decided.

Heather's hand was at her elbow and she used the IV stand for support on her other side. Just a few more feet and they'd be at the elevator. Then a two-minute ride and she could sit down in the sun. She could close her eyes and let the warmth soak into her and take away all her troubling thoughts. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and ignoring the pain in her chest.

"Are you sure you can make it? You're looking a little pale. I can get a wheelchair if you want."

"I'm fine," Cameron snapped, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I'm not very comfortable being on this side of the patient/doctor relationship."

"Don't worry about it. You're right about doctors making the worst patients and most of them don't apologize."

Cameron gave a little nod and then thankfully they were at the elevator. Heather leaned forward to push the button and the two women tilted their heads back to watch the numbers light up as the elevator approached the fourth floor. A high pitched pinging noise signaled its arrival and Cameron pushed her IV stand along and took a step forward as the door opened. She hadn't realized how much she'd been leaning on the stand and she definitely wasn't prepared when one of the wheels caught on the threshold.

There was a clattering sound and the world spun dizzily for a moment as she was pitched forward, but her meeting with the floor was postponed when a pair of hands caught her under her arms and managed to hoist her to her feet. She looked up into eyes so blue she could almost see through them to the thoughts inside and instantly felt every nerve ending fire as her face blushed scarlet.

Another pair of hands gripped her arm, and "Are you all right?" Heather asked as she helped Cameron grab hold of the IV stand again.

"Why yes, I'm just fine," House muttered as he struggled to pick up his cane. "What the hell is she doing out of bed? She's pale as a ghost… or at least, she was a second ago."

"I'm sorry, Dr. House," Heather replied. "Dr. Fraser wants her up and walking around."

"Yes. Walking being the operative word, not falling. You do realize that she had a bullet dug out of her chest barely two days ago, right?"

Cameron wanted to get seriously pissed at the two of them talking about her as if she wasn't there, but suddenly all of the blood drained back out of her face and she watched the world being reduced to two pinpoints of light. House nearly dropped his cane again as he jerked forward and grabbed her around the waist, holding her up until she came back to her senses a moment later.

"Why don't you do something useful and get a damn wheelchair. I can't hold her like this forever," House wasn't shouting, but he might as well have been. Heather beat a hasty retreat.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Cameron insisted, shaking her head to clear her vision. "Just a little lightheadedness. Perfectly normal."

"Yeah, perfectly normal, but hitting the ground with forty stitches running up your chest really wouldn't be a good idea."

Cameron closed her eyes and took a breath. "I really wish you wouldn't do that," she said quietly.

"Do what?" Usually when House asked that question he was being sarcastic because he knew perfectly well what, but this time he wasn't sure. He started releasing his grip on her, thinking that was probably what she meant.

"I wish you wouldn't talk about what's wrong with me like that. I'm not one of your patients. I'm standing right here in front of you. Would it kill you to be just a little bit more sensitive." She couldn't look at him when she spoke.

House swallowed a couple of times and her words echoed around in his head. "I guess I wasn't thinking about how it sounded." He finally said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have brought it up. Can't teach an old dog new tricks, right?"

He didn't have time to respond because Heather reappeared pushing a wheelchair and smiling hesitantly. "Here you go, Allison. Just have a seat. You still want to go to the garden?"

Cameron winced as Heather helped ease her down into the chair. "Yes, I need to breathe some air that isn't filled with disinfectant."

"Whatever you say." She turned to House and eyed him warily. "What floor were you going to?" she asked. When they'd hit the hold button all of the floor buttons had gone dim.

"Seven," House lied. "Look. Why don't I take Dr. Cameron to the roof, and you go find some nice obese gentleman who needs a sponge-bath. I promise to get her home before dark."

Heather was trying to think of a good retort, but the look in Cameron's eyes told her not to bother. She glared at him instead. "Fine. But try to hold back from pushing her off the roof if she pisses you off."

"Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about that," House replied. "Now shoo… shoo… I think I can hear the fat man calling."

He was standing behind her wheelchair, his body casting a long shadow over hers. Cameron folded her hands on her lap, then unfolded them and picked invisible lint off her nightgown. It was disconcerting having him so near, especially being at such a disadvantage. She had been foolishly hoping that he would stop by for at least a quick visit, but in her mind she'd had time to prepare. In her mind she definitely hadn't literally fallen at his feet. He wasn't talking. Why wasn't he talking? She couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Sorry about all this," she gave a slight wave of her hand. "You were on your way somewhere. Heather could have taken me up."

He didn't bother telling her that his destination had been the fourth floor nurses' station to get his third report of the day on her condition.

"Let the nurse who almost dropped you twice, take you to the roof? You're a hell of a lot braver than I am."

"It was an accident. She's very nice."

"Nice, she may be, but competent she is not. I wouldn't trust her with my cat, if I had a cat."

Cameron rolled her eyes and sighed. He hadn't exactly been Mr. Sensitive, as he put it, the night before, but there had been something there… a hint of tenderness maybe, a slight lowering of the hard mask he always wore. Apparently daylight had pushed even Mr. Not-Quite-Sensitive back into hiding.

"Nice nightgown, by the way," he continued as the elevator reached the roof.

Nervous fingers finally stopped their plucking and Cameron took a quick breath. "Thanks," she murmured, then squinted as he pushed her out into the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day out and Cameron took as deep a breath as she dared. It was nice to be breathing fresh air for a change. Spring flowers were blooming in concrete planters spaced out around the roof, interspersed with potted evergreens and even dogwood and cherry trees. House pushed her underneath one of the cherries and sat down in a comfortable lounge chair next to her.

"Are you comfortable in that chair or do you want to stretch out more?" he asked, and she was a little surprised at the offer.

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to get a little sun. This is good." She closed her eyes and let the dappled sunlight through the pink tinged branches warm her face. She tried to forget about the man sitting next to her, and concentrate on the feel of the sun and the scent of the flowers around her. Within minutes she was asleep.

She wasn't sure how long she actually slept but the sun had definitely moved in the sky, so it had probably been close to an hour, probably more. A tangle of shadows now fell on her face and a slight chill ran through her body. She looked around, surprised that House hadn't woken her and taken her back to her room. When she spotted him, she froze. He was still in the lounge chair next to her, but he looked almost like a different man.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines smoothed away and replaced by a vulnerability that Cameron had never seen before. It almost felt like spying to watch him, but something about the way the slight breeze ruffled his hair forward, along with the peaceful look on his face, made it difficult to look away. She was seeing a part of him that few people saw. Maybe only one. Stacy. The woman he'd lived with. She'd overheard Wilson mention her name, and had put one and one together. It was hard to imagine him as part of a couple, but even harder to imagine him splitting up with someone she could only guess he had loved. As cold as he could be, he still didn't strike her as the love 'em and leave 'em type. Ugh. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to stop staring at him.

Cameron reached out to give his arm a little shake. "House? Dr. House?" she called lightly, watching with amusement as his face screwed up into a distinctly annoyed expression before he woke up, eyes blinking at the bright sunlight.

"We fell asleep," she told him as his bleary eyes regained their focus.

"So it would appear. Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night," he muttered, unintentionally answering Cameron's earlier question about how long he had stayed with her.

"That's all right. I'm just surprised you weren't paged. I'm sure Foreman and Chase have been looking for you."

Damn it. They were approaching dangerous territory. "No, it's been a slow day. Nothing exciting. But it is getting late. Nurse Nancy probably thinks I strangled you with your IV line and shoved you behind a potted rose."

It didn't take a genius to recognize a distraction. "They suspended you, didn't they?"

Shit. He didn't bother lying. "Two weeks. Pending another review board meeting. It's just a slap on the wrist. Probably wouldn't have even come to that if that walking dick Nihquist wasn't involved, not to mention Vogler. It's a nice little break actually. I get out of clinic hours too. No snot-nosed toddlers and constipated eighty-year-olds."

It was a lame attempt at levity and Cameron frowned. "I'm sorry," she said remorsefully.

"Oh Jesus, here we go," House rolled his eyes and hoisted himself to his feet with the aid of his cane.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You. Looking at me like I'm some noble savior. I'm nobody's savior, Dr. Cameron. I did what I had to do. I would have done the same even if it had been goddamned Vogler on the table. I just wouldn't have been as happy about him actually surviving." He paced in front of her but never glanced in her direction. Shit. Fuck. Damn. What the hell was he saying? He couldn't seem to shut up. "You look at me with those big doe-eyes and make me wish Foreman knew how to keep his big mouth shut."

Cameron sat there and felt her anger rising. "It's not my fault you're the one who saved me. I can't help it if I'm grateful. I can't help it if I wish you weren't such a miserable bastard all the time."

He spun and faced her, nearly shouting at her. "But I am, Allison. This is who I am. This is the way I'm always going to be. You're not going to kiss me and turn me into your romantic ideal, a prince among men, the man of your dreams."

"You have no idea what I dream about." The color had risen in her cheeks and she hated that he could always do that to her. "If you think I look at you like a savior, then you look at me like I'm some goddamned saint. A model of pure and virtuous womanhood, displayed for you to study and dissect. I'm nice. You're right. And what a crime that is," she stole some of his trademarked sarcasm. "But you don't know my thoughts. You don't know what I want or what I need."

House stepped closer and briefly touched her cheek. "I know what you don't need, and that's to be chained to a bitter, miserable bastard."

She opened her mouth to reply but something in his expression stopped her. He wasn't looking at her coldly, or meanly. His eyes just held a mix of sadness and longing. She was afraid to flatter herself that the longing was for her and not simply for a piece of himself that had fallen away and been lost somewhere; maybe the part that thought he might deserve to be something other than a bitter, miserable bastard. Whatever it was, it was only there for a moment, and then he moved around behind her chair.

"We need to get you back to your room," he said flatly. "You're due for your meds."


	4. Chapter 4

_Here is the next part of this story, and I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying it. Feedback is a wonderful thing!_

_To Nitpicker - Please email me with the medical/technical problems you noticed. My email addy should be in my profile. My limited research/semi-limited experience is a hindrance when it comes to writing believable medical scenes sometimes so I rely on others to help out! I agree with you about the ovarian cancer diagnosis... it doesn't work with the reality of history. I'm going to change it but haven't decided how yet. Frankly I'm not that thrilled with that entire thought exchange of House's so I may redo the whole bit._

Chapter 4

It was raining out, not that House could see it. He had all of the blinds in his office closed, including the ones that covered the walls that separated his office from the hallway. Those blinds were actually very non-standard equipment. The hospital wanted all of the doctors to seem open and accessible. That was why the walls were glass in the first place. The blinds were the first thing House had put up when he'd arrived. Usually when they were closed they kept people from even knocking. Not many people enjoyed getting their entrails handed to them along with a side order of sarcasm.

Unfortunately for House, Dr. Wilson was one of the few people who weren't intimidated by closed blinds.

"Dr. Cameron's being released today," he said as he entered and shut the door again.

House didn't look up from his gameboy. "So I've heard."

"So that's it then. You've seen the last of her. You'll just hide out here in your office for the next two weeks waiting for Vogler to work out a way to fire you."

House nodded. "Yep, sounds like a plan. Gosh, you really do know me!"

"Oh for God's sake, could you just cut the crap for once?" Wilson was one step from shouting and House's eyes actually widened as he sat up straighter. "Do you really think that alienating one of the two people who give a damn about you is the way to go?"

House stifled what he was really feeling and rolled his eyes. "She's a girl with a crush. Maybe distance is exactly what she needs to get over it and move on with her life."

"She's a woman who watched her husband die a lingering death, and is probably more mature than you, judging by your taste in television and juvenile games. But you're right about her moving on with her life. She probably will, and you'll still be drowning your sorrows in scotch and vicodin and playing melancholy songs to yourself to avoid sleeping."

"I'll have you know, this game is rated M for Mature, and what the hell do you know about it anyway?" House growled, feeling almost dangerously angry. How did Wilson know about Cameron's husband? He'd had to ambush her in the lab to get her to cough up that information and here was Wilson letting the words fall out of his mouth as if it was common knowledge. "You're working your way through marriage number three. I'd hardly call you a reliable source of relationship advice."

Most people might have been hurt by those words, but Wilson just looked resigned. He gave a little shrug. "At least I'm making an effort," he replied. "Maybe if one of them had been like Cameron I'd have stopped looking," he continued.

"Oh please! Is this where the sappy music is supposed to start and I'm supposed to realize everything that I'm missing? Because frankly, even you are not a good enough actor to sell that line."

Wilson met House's aggravated gaze and raised one eyebrow. "I think you already realize what you're missing. The question is whether or not you're going to get off your sorry ass and do something about it."

For a change, House didn't have a ready retort, and Wilson turned and left the office before he could think of anything suitably scathing. That just left him feeling even more pissed off, and he slumped back in his chair and tossed his game onto the desk.

Fuck.

Why the fuck did she have to go and get herself shot? He had been getting along just fine without her. All right, that was a lie, but at least he had resigned himself to her absence. She had been nice to have around. He could admit that. It sure as hell wasn't his fault that she had to go and get all mushy. Jesus, why did women have to be like that? Foreman and Chase didn't give a shit what he thought about them. Why did she?

Because she likes you, dumbass. He answered his own question. She'd even given reasons why she liked him as she stood in his doorway, feelings spread out naked in her eyes, her expression, her outstretched hand. And he thought she was damaged. Shit, he hadn't even been able to look at her, much less take her hand. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He'd practically been in mourning since she'd left, and yet the first thing he did when she tried to share some honest emotion was cut her down and push her away… literally.

He hadn't said a word as he'd wheeled her back to the elevator and back to her room. He hadn't even helped her into bed; he'd called a nurse to do it. Then he'd left without a backward glance. That had been three days ago. He'd continued to keep tabs on her progress, but he'd done it by phone. He hadn't wanted to even risk the chance of seeing her in the hallway. Damn, he was a heartless bastard. He knew her family wasn't coming and he'd just let her lie up there, with only Foreman and Chase's sporadic visits to keep her from going stir-crazy. He knew exactly what that was like. He wondered if she had resorted to soap operas yet. He scrubbed his face with his hand and let out a frustrated sigh. Damn Wilson.

* * *

The steady thumping noise gave Wilson plenty of warning. He could probably have made a quick exit out of the lab through the side door. Instead he kept looking at slides and listening as the thumping grew louder.

"She's already been released," House said sharply.

Wilson casually looked at his watch, as if he needed to verify the time. He knew perfectly well that Cameron had left. He'd been the one to put her in a cab. "Four o'clock. Yeah. I guess she's been gone for almost an hour."

"Do you know who she hired for a home health aide? I can't believe Fraser let her go already. Her white count was still elevated."

"Her body's still healing from a bullet wound," Wilson replied. "I think a slightly elevated white is pretty much to be expected."

"Yeah, yeah. Now answer the question."

"I don't know. I don't think she called anyone. Foreman said she's already worried about the bills as it is."

"Damn it, Cuddy," House muttered too quietly for Wilson to hear. Now he had someone else he needed to go yell at. "If Vogler's looking for me, tell him I've gone off to accept my Nobel Prize. I'll see you tomorrow." And that was it. There was no apology for their earlier argument, not even a recognition that it had occurred.

Wilson shook his head as he watched House limp back out of the lab. "See you tomorrow, Greg."

* * *

Gregory House never drove anywhere without music blaring from the speakers, but there was always a first time for everything. The muffled swoosh-thud of the windshield wipers was currently the only soundtrack playing. In a way it was fitting because he was in the middle of another first: taking advice from Wilson.

He hooked a wide left in a busy intersection, cutting off a minivan and an SUV. Another left, then a right, and a left past the open 24hours convenience store. He'd only driven to her place once, but he remembered the way. He pulled into the little parking lot going ten miles too fast and zipped into the space next to her car.

Cameron's apartment was the second floor of an older Victorian house, with similar houses on either side, all sharing the same small parking area at the back of the properties. It wasn't the best part of town, but it was far from the worst, and House wondered how desperate or how stupid her assailant had to be to decide that this was the best place to conduct a mugging. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment before he reached down and cut the engine. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he needed to do it fast before his good sense kicked in and reminded him not to be a damned fool.

The rain had almost stopped and he walked down the slick, flower-lined path to the front door, avoiding the puddles and the worms that had emerged at the first sign of moisture. The three steps up to the front porch were easy enough to navigate, and he limped over to her front door. It was unlocked and led into a small entry way and the stairs to her apartment. They were narrow and steep. Naturally. He wondered how she'd managed them. Had she leaned against the wall to balance herself, or had she asked the cab driver to help her in? She really wasn't the type to ask for help and he pictured her leaning heavily on the railing and pausing half-way up to catch her breath. It was a scenario he was about to repeat.

At the top of the stairs was a landing, just big enough for a couple of people to stand. Coat hooks hung on one wall, and he noticed her raincoat and a summer jacket, and the black leather biker jacket he'd only seen her in once. A shoe rack was set against the opposite wall, with all her boots and shoes neatly lined up. He'd never noticed that she always wore heels; probably trying to compensate for some perceived deficiency. He remembered now that she'd seemed very small when he'd held her up in the elevator. He shook his head to clear it of that memory. It was better not to think about how she'd felt in his arms, his hand snug against her hip, her body leaning into his. He shook his head again and knocked on the door. He could hear faint movement on the other side and leaned against the coats, popping two vicodin as he waited. He had to shake his head once again when the door opened.

"Foreman. I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said. Was that jealousy pricking at the back of his brain?

"I could say the same thing." Foreman looked relaxed but wary.

"Just came over to see how the patient's doing. You know how it is. Once you've cut a person open you can't help but feel a certain connection."

Foreman wasn't buying the casual act. "That's the first I've ever heard you say something like that."

House glared at him. "Yes, well I generally make you people do the cutting."

"She's in the bedroom. I'm sure she'll want to see you," Foreman opened the door all the way and ushered House inside.

House didn't bother saying that he wouldn't be too sure about what she wanted.

The apartment was small but nice, with hardwood floors everywhere and one of the original stained-glass windows in the living room. Her furniture was simple but nice. Cream-colored sofa with pale green throw pillows. Black and white photographs on the walls. A bookcase crammed with books and pottery. They passed through the dining room and the table had a large floral arrangement in the center, probably from her parents. The built in hutch held more books along with antique bottles, sun-bleached shells and delicate teacups. It felt like everything held a memory and House was surprised that he actually wanted to examine it all but Foreman was still walking, and he hurried to keep up.

"Who was it?" Cameron called from the bedroom as she heard Foreman approaching. She sounded a little tired but otherwise all right.

Foreman pushed the door open and stood to one side while House came into view. The look of expectation on Cameron's face changed instantly to something completely unreadable. It was as if every thought, every emotion was suddenly locked behind an invisible door.

"I'm surprised to see you."

"I'm surprised to be here."

Foreman watched the look that passed between them and slowly backed out of the room. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough that he didn't want to be involved. "Now that you've got company I'd better head out," he said lightly. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Cameron broke her gaze with House and gave Foreman the barest hint of a smile. "Thanks. And thanks for bringing over dinner." She motioned towards the Chinese food boxes spread out on her nightstand.

"No problem. A girl's gotta eat. Get some rest." He turned and gave House a quick warning look and then silently left the room.

House didn't move until he heard the sound of the front door closing and then he limped to the side of the bed and peered down at the boxes of food.

"Aww, no chicken lo mein, and that's my favorite," he quipped.

Cameron looked up at him and waited for him to turn and face her. "What are you doing here, Dr. House? I thought we'd already said more than enough."

"Probably, but then Wilson told me you'd been discharged and I felt honor bound to check in on you."

She closed her eyes for a second and then looked away. "Well, as you can see, I'm not completely without friends."

"Right. I was confusing you with me." House's expression grew serious and tired looking.

In fact, Chase and Foreman were the only people in Princeton whom Cameron could even consider calling friends. The competition in med school had kept her from making many friends and they had all taken positions in different states. She was almost embarrassed that the majority of her free time was spent holed up in her apartment, alone.

"You've got Wilson," she replied quietly, silently adding that he could have her too if he would just open up the smallest bit.

House seemed to realize that his eyes were giving away too much, and he blinked the shade of sarcastic detachment back over them. "Yes, of course, Wilson. He mentioned something else to me too." She looked confused and he continued on, "He told me that you didn't hire anyone to come in and take care of you."

"I don't need anyone," she reasoned. "I'm a doctor. I know how to take care of myself, and I can always call for help if I really need it."

"So you're gonna call Chase or Foreman over here to examine your sutures and help you with your bath? Because, technically, I have seen it all." What the hell was he doing? He had come here to talk seriously and all he could do was make sarcastic comments and lecherous suggestions.

Cameron's eyes grew wide with astonishment at what he was saying, but she was only tongue-tied for an instant. "So on the one hand I'm supposed to accept that you only see me as a naïve little child, but on the other hand I'm supposed to let you look at my tits?"

Now it was House's turn to be taken aback. Somehow 'tits' was one of those words he never expected to hear coming out of that perfect bow-like little mouth. It was on an unwritten list along with pussy, cock, and autoerotic asphixiation.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Dr. Cameron?"

She smirked, feeling inordinately pleased to have caught him off-guard. "Every time I see her."

Even he had to smile at that, but he tried to hide it by looking down at his shoes and not at her. "Maybe not such a good girl after all," he murmured.

"Not much of a girl at all," she countered gently and something about the tilt of his head and a softening around his eyes made her brave.

She reached out and tentatively let her fingers brush over his until she was grasping his fingertips and pulling him a half-step closer. "I know this wasn't in your plan… I wasn't in your plan… but here we are, and I wish you could at least consider the possibilities."

"You have no idea what you're asking or what you're getting yourself into," he wanted to slap himself for sounding like the bad-boy hero in a hundred old movies.

"Then tell me. Explain it to me. Do something besides just telling me that you're a bastard and I'm a vestal virgin and never the twain shall meet." She cocked one eyebrow and caught his eye, "Because you may be right about the bastard part, but I'm no virgin."

He laughed ruefully and wondered if he was going to live to regret his next move as he leaned over and met her startled gaze for just a fraction of a second before capturing her mouth with his. He could tell that she was shocked, but a heartbeat later she was relaxing against him, her lips soft and pliant. He reached up with his free hand and cupped the back of her head, pressing her closer as he traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue and bit down on her lower lip. She let out a little gasp and he stole the opportunity to press further into her mouth, tasting her, memorizing her. His kiss was hungry and greedy, taking everything she offered and demanding more until he finally broke away leaving her breathless.

Cameron's chest heaved as she pulled in breath, hardly noticing the tug of the stitches down her chest. Her cheeks felt flushed and her fingers were tingling but when she looked up at House she saw that he was breathing hard too, and his hand was flexing and clenching on his cane.

"Was that supposed to scare me?" she asked feeling more confident than she had in days.

He blinked a few times before he replied, "I suppose it was."

"Then you'd better try again, because it didn't work."

"Given your current condition, I don't think that would be the best idea," he said, for once nothing in his tone but truth.

He took a small step backwards, suddenly needing that bit of distance. The kiss might not have frightened her but it had scared the crap out of him. It wasn't that he was completely out of practice, but this was completely different. He'd had a couple of brief flings since… well, since the one relationship that hadn't been a fling… but the women had entered them knowing exactly what the game plan was. The game plan called for drunken fun, a few nights out and a few nights in, having sex and making him forget about his leg and everything else. At the moment he couldn't even remember if he'd kissed any of them on the lips. He was certain he would never forget kissing Allison Cameron.

"So what would be the best idea?" He hadn't realized that he'd looked away but now he turned his head to look at her, sitting there with a look in her eyes that soothed him.

"Where do you keep your medical supplies? Closet? Bathroom?"

"What?" He could change gears faster than his car.

"Antiseptic, aspirin, thermometer, you know… the stuff you use when you're hurt or sick?"

"House, can't we just talk? Please?"

"We can talk any time. Your incision could be turning septic while we stand around blathering… okay, while I stand around blathering."

Cameron gave a little sigh and closed her eyes. "Bathroom across the hall. Under the sink. There's a basket there."

House limped into the bathroom and quickly found the basket. Like everything else in the apartment it was neat and well organized. He grabbed betadine, sterile pads and the thermometer just for good measure before heading back to the bedroom.

She pinned him with her gaze as soon as he came back in the room. "You don't really think I'm going to let you--"

"Let me what? Play doctor?" he cut her off. "Why not? I'm quite good at it, really."

"House…"

"Just let me do this," he said as he walked to the side of the bed.

In her mind she was screaming that she needed to demand that they sit down and talk, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "Fine."

He nodded once, a little surprised but glad. He just couldn't talk. Not quite yet. He needed to do something familiar, something easy, and compared to having an honest heart-felt conversation, even open heart surgery sounded easy to him.

"Here, open your mouth," he held out the thermometer and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't have a temperature."

"You seem to forget that I've seen your chart. You've been on mass quantities of antibiotics for almost a week and your white count is still borderline. Now open up and let's make sure you don't have a raging infection going on inside." Yes, this was definitely easier.

She opened her mouth and clamped it shut around the thermometer, but her expression said all the words she couldn't.

"I can't believe you haven't gone digital. Here I thought all the young people threw away anything over five years old," House remarked while he looked at his watch, counting the seconds.

"Not all of us," Cameron was finally able to reply when he took hold of the thermometer and held it up to the light to read it.

House pretended he hadn't heard her. She was trying to trick him into talking, and it wasn't going to work. "Ninety-nine point seven. Running a little hot, Dr. Cameron.?"

"Only when you're in the room," she shot back, and watched the startled look pass over his face.

"Okay, then, on to the next order of business," He was back to pretending not to hear, and Cameron felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a half-smile. "How do you want to do this?"

The smile quickly fled. He was gesturing towards her chest and suddenly her bedroom seemed much too small for the two of them. Despite the fact that she'd had him off-guard less than thirty seconds ago, he decided not to hold a grudge.

"Cameron, I just want to look at the sutures. Can you just unbutton enough for me to do that?" he said gently.

She nodded. "Right. Yeah. I can do that."

Her fingers fumbled at the first button, but by the third she had regained her composure. Soon she had the soft shirt completely undone and she pulled the edges apart just far enough so that the seam that now ran down the center of her chest was visible. To be completely honest, she was glad to have someone else take care of it. She could barely look at it without her stomach turning a somersault. In the hospital she'd seen a hundred things worse, but it was much, much different when it was her own body.

"Mind if I sit down? I'd rather not fall on top of you," House said, the sarcasm returning slightly.

She nodded, her head turned away.

House sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and propped his cane against the nightstand before looking down at the thin line of pale flesh accented by black surgical staples. It wasn't that bad, really. It seemed to be healing quite well. Probably wouldn't even leave much of a scar. All right, that last one was a lie and he knew it. The last time he'd seen this particular patch of skin he'd been acting on instinct. He'd sliced through it without a second thought except to what he was going to do next. The only emotion he'd felt then had been a furious rage; directed at Niquist for being incompetent, and the mugger for being a selfish asshole, and at Cameron for lying there dying. But now when he looked down at the evidence of that near-death he felt sick, and the bone-chilling fear he hadn't allowed himself at the time crashed over him like a wave. He swallowed hard and opened the bottle of antiseptic.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said and his voice was steadier than his hand as he poured the liquid onto one of the gauze pads.

She flinched when he touched the top of the scar. "You forgot to say 'this is gonna sting a little'," she joked.

"Well, being a doctor and all, I figured you'd heard it all before." Her little grin steadied his hand and he cleaned the rest of the wound and patted it dry with another pad. "There. All set. And you didn't even have to show my your tits." He made it a joke, but the truth was that as close as they were to being bare, he hadn't even thought about them.

Cameron started buttoning her pajama top again and House stood up and limped to the other side of the room, where he looked at the pictures hung on the wall and the few knick-knacks scattered on her white antique vanity.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, gathering her strength for what she knew would be a fight. "This is supposed to be the part where we talk."

House turned to face her. "Right. Talking. Never my strong suit, actually."

A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "Yeah, right."

He scowled at her and limped back across the room. "Okay, what do you want to talk about? What do you want me to say?"

She pressed her lips together and just looked at him for a minute, letting her eyes do the talking for her until he'd released the ugly look on his face and replaced it with something less forbidding. "I want to talk about what happened a few minutes ago. I want to talk about what's been happening for a few months now. I want to talk about why I had to quit."

"I think I already know the answer to that one," House said wearily. "If I recall correctly it had something to do with protecting yourself. Seems like you've decided to throw caution to the wind now." He grabbed the stool from her vanity and sat down. This wasn't a conversation he could have standing up.

"Well it seemed like you might be willing to do the same," Cameron said slowly. "Look, I know you hate all this touchy-feely crap. Solving puzzles that have definite answers is definitely more your style. So I'm not going to ask what you're feeling. I'm not going to ask if you like me again. I think I already have the answer to that… I hope I already have the answer to that. I'm just going to ask if you can possibly not hide it quite so much, and if you could possibly try to accept the fact that what I'm feeling for you is not a crush, and it's not some hero-worship gone wrong. And then, if you can do that, I'm asking if you can at least think about doing something about it… you know… like normal people who find themselves attracted to each other." She was surprised that he'd let her get all that out without interrupting, and she concentrated on his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.

He nodded a few times and then rested his chin on his cane, his blue eyes piercing right through her. "You're right. I hate the touchy-feely crap," he said, watching to see if her eyes would waver. They didn't. "I'm not making any promises to you."

"I don't expect any."

"Good." He stood up and moved to her side. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. Get some rest."

Cameron nodded. If this was all he could do at the moment, it was enough. She felt her heart speed up when he leaned closer and then he was brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. She didn't say anything as he pulled away and walked towards the door, but her eyes were focused on the line of his back and the angle of his head.

He turned around to face her as he reached the hall. "You're right," he admitted, "I do like you," and then he was limping down the hall, the thud of his cane growing lighter as he walked away from her and out of the apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

_A **HUGE** thank you to everyone who has been reading and responding! I'm very pleased that you all like how the story is going so far._

Chapter 5

It was six-thirty in the morning and the sun had been up for an hour, but not much else was except for the resident doctor of misanthropy who was limping down the hall to his office looking even more rumpled than usual. He entered his office and shut the door, then released the blinds, giving a satisfied almost-grin as they covered the walls. Damn cleaning people always insisted on raising them up at night.

His chair let out a squeaking groan of protest as he fell into it, without even bothering to take off his jacket. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his ipod and his gameboy. He'd stopped at the store and bought a new game after visiting Cameron. He was already up to level nineteen and was fairly sure that was some sort of record.

He put the game on the desk and opted for music instead. What he really needed was coffee. Coffee with four and a half sugars, made perfectly by only one person other than himself. Damn it. He was thinking about her again. His head lolled against the back of his chair and he closed his eyes, letting the soothing sounds of Frank Sinatra wash over him. Except that they weren't relaxing. They were pithy and smart and romantic and damnit he was thinking about her again. He turned the music off. Coffee. That was all he needed. Coffee and about four more hours of sleep.

He managed to get two of them sitting in his chair before the sound of his office door opening woke him up. Wilson. Naturally. He was wearing the expectant look of a schoolboy and House suddenly wanted to throttle him. He settled for shaking his head like an irritated teacher faced with an overly enthusiastic apple-bringer.

"So?"

"Sew buttons?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the childish joke. "So, you went over there. What happened?"

"You know, Wilson, if you get this much joy living vicariously through me you'd really have a ball watching the soaps. I advise starting off with All My Children and moving up to General Hospital."

"Done with the witty comebacks yet?"

"No, I'm fairly certain I have an unlimited supply."

Wilson sat down and held out a cup of coffee. "If you can manage to answer my question I'll give you this perfect cup of coffee, straight from our very own cafeteria."

It was House's turn to roll his eyes. "Four and a half sugars?"

"Four. Who's counting?"

House was. But he stretched out an arm and grabbed the coffee anyway. Definitely better than nothing.

"How did it go?"

"God, you sound like we're making plans for the prom," House said with exasperation. "It went fine. She has some wacky notion that we should try to have a relationship like normal adults."

"What a concept."

"Yes, I thought so," House replied, taking a long sip of coffee and wincing as he burned his tongue.

"And you said?" Damn, getting a straight answer out of him was like pulling teeth with rusty tweezers even after twenty-years of friendship.

"I said I couldn't promise her anything."

Wilson threw back his head, utterly exasperated. "Well don't go getting the poor girl's hopes up! What a fall that will be! Jesus, Greg, I know you're not exactly a glass-half-full kinda guy, but trust me, there are still a few drops in there if you look real close. You don't have to toss the whole damn glass away already."

He was going to go on but stopped when he saw the look on House's face. The man had an expression that wavered between fear, desperation and yearning. He'd seen something similar to it years earlier, right around the time House's doctors had told him he wasn't going to die, but he was never going to recover either.

"She's got enough hope for the both of us," House said quietly. "A regular Pollyanna."

"And that bothers you?"

House nailed him with a look. "Damn right, it bothers me. I'm not a complete asshole. You think I really want to be the one to crush her into dust under the weight of all my shit? You think I really want to be the first one on the scene when that optimistic light in her eyes goes out for the last time?" He propelled himself out of his chair, needing to move and rid himself of the sudden urge to put his fist through the window.

Wilson, ever the calming influence, stayed seated and followed House with his eyes. "First of all, I think you're underestimating her, and second, why don't you try following her lead. God knows yours hasn't gotten you very far."

House turned and leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes piercing into Wilson's. "So you actually think there's a chance in hell that this could end up as something other than a tragic movie-of-the week," it was a statement, not a question.

"That depends on whether or not you can stop being completely absorbed with self-pity and self-flagellation for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch."

"Yeah. That's what I was afraid of."

"Afraid that you can or afraid that you can't?"

House shrugged. "Both."

Wilson took a long breath while he waited for House to move back to his chair and sit down; his shoulders slumped. "She's not Stacy. She's already seen you at your worst and she hasn't run away screaming yet."

"Oh? What would you call quitting?"

"Self-preservation. She quit because she felt too much, not the other way around. I thought we'd already covered that."

"Yeah, well I'm a slow learner," House sniped.

Wilson stood up and stared down at his friend. It was something he didn't get the chance to do very often. "I forgot to mention the one other thing that's going to have to happen if this is going to have a chance in hell of working out. You're going to have to trust her. If you don't think you can at least do that much, then for God's sake, stop fucking with her emotions, because your trust is probably the one thing she wants more than anything else."

House wasn't sure if that was completely accurate, but it was probably close. Wilson was getting much to smart in his old age.

"Are you done yelling at me?" he asked.

Wilson seemed to ponder the question for a second. "Yes. I think so."

"Good. I usually do enough… how did you put it? self-flagellation… for the both of us."

With a brief nod, Wilson agreed. He headed for the door but stopped as he was turning the handle. "You deserve more than you've allowed yourself lately," he said, over his shoulder, "try to remember that when you're with her. You can be a real bastard sometimes, but you're a good man." Another nod and he was gone, shutting the door on the way.

* * *

"I'm telling you man, he came to visit her at her apartment. You think he does that for just anyone?"

"So what? He used to be her boss. He saved her life for God's sake."

"He's saved a lot of people's lives, Chase, and I don't see him going door to door to check in on them. Look. You didn't see the looks that were flying. Something is going on there. We already know Cam had some sort of weird-ass feelings for him for some strange reason. Now we've got him going over to her place, and you know she's gonna feel all indebted to him for saving her life.

"Well he did save it."

"Yeah, and if he's not careful he's gonna ruin it. I swear if he hurts her I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I don't think that would go over very well with the hospital review board," Chase replied sarcastically.

"Screw them. Now hand me that slide. Damn, this is supposed to be Cameron's job."

House leaned against the wall outside the lab, listening. He'd heard enough. Shit. Well, he'd expected Foreman to spill the beans. Hell, he'd also expected him to act the role of protector. He walked slowly back to his office. His leg was killing him from the trip up and down Cameron's stairs and the fact that he'd spent most of the night in his leather chair trying to beat miniature ninjas to death. He popped two vicodin as soon as he got to his door, and limped to his chair.

He leaned back, cane twirling idly in his fingers. Damn, he hoped Cameron didn't have any brothers. Between Foreman and Wilson she had enough substitutes. It wasn't surprising really. She was exactly the kind of woman who engendered that kind of protectiveness. She was good and sweet and kind and probably helped little old ladies across the street and volunteered at the local soup kitchen. She also left her heart lying around in the open. Apparently no one had ever told her that was a good way for it to get trodden upon. He hoped he wouldn't be the one to do that. He abruptly stopped twirling his cane and pulled the shade up, realizing that he was actually considering the possibilities.

Following the rather stark realization that he was seriously contemplating Cameron's suggestion, House expected to be either immediately struck by lightning or compelled into a fit of dangerous introspection and contrition. Surprisingly, neither happened. He blamed that on exhaustion and too many video games. Obviously if he was in his right mind he would be shooting the idea down with a flurry of snide and sarcastic remarks.

He was just about to go and find Wilson and have a conversation about ties when his door slammed open and the Incredible Hulk stalked in. Only somewhere along the line the Incredible Hulk had taken on the semi-human form of Edward Vogler.

House merely looked at him with bored detachment and waited for the other man to make the first move. It was obviously what he'd come barging in to do. House didn't have long to wait as Vogler walked forward and tossed a newspaper onto the desk. House looked at it, eyebrows knitting together as he tried to decide why Vogler had thrown it at him rather than hitting him about the head with it.

"The only reason I didn't call for your immediate dismissal after your complete insubordination at the press dinner was because the media lapped it up. Oh yes, a doctor with a heart. A doctor with principles. Obviously none of them had ever visited the clinic. It bought you a temporary reprieve, but if you think this is going to save your job, you'd better think again," Vogler said, not quite shouting, but voice harsh and angry.

House picked up the newspaper. It was folded to an inside page and the headline read 'Doctor Saves One of His Own'. House couldn't help but smirk. Cuddy. There was a picture of him in the corner, one that had been taken years earlier at one of those benefits Stacy had always dragged him to. He noticed that her image was carefully cropped away.

"Interesting article, and quite a nice shot of me, wouldn't you say? Of course I've always been particularly photogenic."

Vogler stepped closer to the desk, leaning on it and carelessly pushing a stack of mail and files to the floor. "Listen, House, you may think you're some hot shot here, the crippled doctor with the brilliant mind, but all I see is an insolent, contemptuous, bastard who enjoys watching how people react to him."

"So, not very different from you, then?"

The vein on the other man's head was visibly bulging and House wondered idly if he'd be expected to administer care if Vogler stroked out right on top of his desk. An instant later and a smug smile appeared on Vogler's face as he pushed off from the desk and stood up straight again.

"Yeah, that's right, Dr. House. Keep right on going with the petty insults. An arrogant bastard to the end. Well, we're having a little vote here tonight, and if I were you I'd spend less time playing your games and more time cleaning out your office."

House shuddered dramatically "Oooh, I'm shivering in my shoes now."

One corner of Vogler's mouth curled higher and he fixed House with a conquering look. "When I get through with you, you'll be shaking all right, curled up with your tail between your legs and no place to go." He pointed at the newspaper still resting lightly in House's hands. "You think you're the only one who can spin something? You won't be able to find a hospital that'll touch you with a ten foot pole. Did you think I wouldn't find out that your Dr. Cameron quit? You didn't fire her; she got sick of you. Of course we both know why you hired her in the first place and I have to admit she looked damn good walking through the halls. What… did she get tired of you grabbing her ass in the lab?"

Later, House wouldn't be able to recall exactly how he'd ended up on his feet, but the sound of flesh striking flesh would be permanently etched in his memory. He caught Vogler right across the jaw, but the man's head just snapped to the right and he didn't even stumble backwards. Instead he reached into his suit and pulled out a linen handkerchief, using it to dab at the fleck of blood at the corner of his mouth. His smug smile had barely been dented.

House on the other hand was breathing hard, and giving Vogler a look that would have had any other person running for the door.

"Keep it com'n, doctor," he said snidely. "I can always use more ammunition."

House almost took him up on it, his hand tightening on his cane and ready to beat the pompous bastard into the ground, but he managed to pull back some control and just stood watching as Vogler marched into the hallway, leaving the door wide open on his way out.

* * *

He had never knocked before and he decided that now wasn't the time to start. No doubt she'd heard him coming anyway, cane thumping against the linoleum floor.

"I have a feeling you might be getting a call from the police," he announced, and watched as Dr. Cuddy rolled her eyes before looking at him over the rims of her dark glasses.

"Oh God, House, what now?"

"Nothing really, just an unfortunate meeting between my fist and Edward Vogler's face."

Cuddy had been merely exasperated before, but House's words caught her attention and her eyes widened. "You HIT him? You hit the chairman of the board. You hit the man who is giving this hospital one hundred million dollars. You hit your boss."

"Oh, I'm not too worried about that last one. There's a rumor going around the playground that there's going to be a super secret meeting at the clubhouse tonight to vote me outta the gang."

Her expression told him everything he needed to know, but she spoke anyway. "Vogler called it, and yes, it's pretty obvious what he's going to demand."

House nodded sharply. "Good. Thanks for not sugar-coating it. You know I'm very good at taking my medicine without." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his credit card. "Since you didn't end up following through after our little conversation, here's my card. Dr. Cameron's bills should fit perfectly. If security won't let me in tomorrow you can mail it back to me," he said with a twisted smile.

"I tried," Cuddy said, sounding more sympathetic than he expected. "Vogler got wind of it."

House let a rough snort of laughter escape. "Amazing isn't it? That he can run a successful business and still have time to make our lives hell," he commented, and then left the office without giving her a chance to disagree.


	6. Chapter 6

_Again, I have to thank everyone who's been commenting! I really enjoy writing this so it's gratifying to know that people enjoy reading it too!_

Chapter 6

The hallway was busy. Good. House wanted to make a quick exit and that meant avoiding everyone he knew. He'd had a lecture from Wilson, an uneven fistfight with Vogler and a meeting of the minds with Cuddy. Yes, it had been quite a full day and it wasn't even noon. And he was supposed to be suspended.

He stepped out of the elevator, popped two vicodin, and hobbled towards the main lobby. He could almost see his car in his mind's eye. A fast drive back to his place and he'd be able to wallow in scotch and morbid music. Except that he had told Cameron that he'd stop by. Well, he'd call and tell her he couldn't make it. Shit. Great way to start the 'normal people' act.

"Hey!"

House heard the familiar voice but didn't slow down.

"House, wait up!"

He kept walking.

"Greg!"

He let out a sigh and stopped, turning around and leaning heavily on his cane. "You called?"

Wilson came to a stop in front of him and looked up at him, his expression a mix of incredulity and scrutiny. Apparently news traveled fast. Well, it had been almost two hours.

"You punched Vogler in the face?" Wilson exclaimed, his face taking on a look of boyish amazement.

"I assure you he had it coming," House replied, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

"Damn! What the hell happened?"

House rolled his eyes and directed Wilson to the corner of the lobby where they wouldn't be quite so visible. "It was a reflex action. Nothing I could do about it. Maybe I could blame a late onset of Tourettes."

"Well he had to have said something to set it off!" Wilson was still filled with a sort of elation, at the fact that his friend had done something he would have loved to do himself.

"Does it really matter?" House snapped, putting an instant damper on Wilson's enthusiasm.

"Sorry… sorry… you're right." Wilson beat a hasty verbal retreat. "It was just a shock to hear Foreman and Chase talking about it."

"Yeah, well, as good as it felt at the moment, I can't say I'm thrilled with myself now."

"Oh c'mon. You'd do it again in a heartbeat. Admit it."

House shrugged. "You're right. I would. But I'd use my cane. My hand's killing me now."

"So, now that you've virtually guaranteed that he'll call for your dismissal, you're heading out?"

A rare grin. "Seemed like the thing to do. I have a bottle of scotch at home with my name on it. You can give my tearful farewells to Foreman and Chase."

"Greg, you don't know for certain…" House shot him a look that said not to patronize him, but Wilson continued anyway. "It takes a unanimous vote." His meaning was clear.

For once, House dropped his façade. "Don't throw your career away, Jim. I'm not worth it."

Wilson wanted to disagree but he decided to change topics instead. "I talked to Dr. Cameron a little while ago."

It was an unexpected shift but House managed to follow along after a brief moment where he lost his equilibrium at the sound of her name. He rolled his eyes, instantly back in character. "Tell me you didn't call her up to giggle and say 'He likes you! He like, like-likes you!'. Planning on carving our names on a table in the lunchroom next? What are you, her best girl-friend now?"

Wilson stifled a chuckle. House's reaction was about what he expected, and just what he'd hoped for. The easy sarcasm was an instant defense mechanism and frankly he didn't want House leaving the hospital on a morbid, serious note.

"No, actually I called her up to see if she needed anything," he let a grin spread slowly across his face before continuing, "but she said you were planning on stopping by."

Damn. "Yeah, well that was pre-Vogler. I think I mentioned the twenty-year old scotch? It and Dr. Cameron are mutually exclusive."

Wilson met his eyes, seriousness returning to his face. "And which do you think will really make you feel better?"

House almost growled his annoyance, but he settled for twisting his face into one of his many irritated expressions, and stalking away towards the exit.

"Say hello for me," Wilson called after him.

* * *

Wind rippling around him, scenery a blur, roar of the engine in his ears, the vibrations from the road a hum through his body. He was driving much too fast, but as usual he didn't give a damn. He'd been half-way to his apartment when he'd suddenly pulled a u-turn, flipped off three irate drivers and sped off in the opposite direction. Now he was quickly approaching the convenience store, and he pulled the wheel to the left, almost allowing himself a smile as the car cornered like it was on rails.

Her car was the only one in the parking lot and once again he pulled in next to it, cut the engine, and sat there, clenching the wheel. Was he out of his mind? Of course he was. If he was sane he would be home already with one glass of scotch in his stomach and another in his hand. If he was sane he would not even be thinking of crossing that invisible line into emotional entanglement.

"For Christ's sake, you've already kissed her… twice. The fucking line's been crossed," he muttered to himself as he pulled himself out of the car and headed for the front door.

Great. Stairs. Again. His knee-jerk reaction was to take another couple of pills, but he remembered he'd just taken some at the hospital. Normally that wouldn't have stopped him, but for some reason, this time it did. He didn't want to think about the fact that the reason was probably sitting one flight up. Thinking too hard about that would send him sprint-limping back to the car.

The stairs actually didn't seem quite as bad this time, and he didn't even stop mid-way up. He rapped loudly on the door and listened. He assumed that she was in her bedroom and was surprised when he heard shuffling inside almost immediately. There was the sound of the lock being turned and then the door opened and she was staring up at him looking slightly bewildered yet pleased.

"House… I didn't think you'd be by so early. Okay, I wasn't sure if you'd be by at all," she admitted as she moved out of the way to let him inside.

"Yes, well, you know how it is, things are awfully busy at the hospital when you're not allowed to see patients. Decided I needed a break from all that sitting around twiddling my thumbs."

A little lop-sided grin appeared on her face. "Well I'm glad you came. Do you want to sit?" In spite of their last conversation, or maybe because of it, she really wasn't sure what to expect from him.

"Sure. Sounds good," he answered, and the words brought a sense of déjà vu.

He followed her towards the sofa, watching how carefully she was moving, with almost a slight limp. He hated seeing that and was glad when she sat down.

"I got tired of being in bed," she said by way of explanation when she noticed him looking at her with that slightly disapproving expression on his face. "I swear, the walls were closing in on me."

"Hmm. Hallucinations. Could be sign of an infection."

She released a tiny sigh of exasperation, and then froze when House reached out and touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

"You feel warm," he said. She also felt soft, and delicate and alive but he didn't bother to mention that. "Have you taken all your medication."

"Yes, mom," she said, teasingly.

"What about food? Have you eaten?" Damn. Please say no. He needed something to do. Just sitting there and looking into her eyes while she waited for him to say something meaningful was like a slow torture.

"I had some cereal this morning."

"Well it's after noon now. You should eat lunch. You already look like you've lost ten pounds," he said as he stood up, pretending not to notice the slightly bereft look in her eyes.

"Foreman dropped off a bunch of groceries when he stopped by yesterday," she offered helpfully as she got up to follow him to the kitchen.

He turned and pointed at her with the handle of his cane. "Sit. I don't need you trailing me around." The words came out sounding a lot meaner than they had in his head.

"Sorry," she whispered as she sat back down.

Right. He didn't need anyone trailing him around. Like for instance an obviously over-needy, over-emotional woman. She pinched her lips together, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about the kiss he'd given her the night before. He'd probably said a hundred more sarcastic, more biting, more disparaging things to her since she'd met them, and none of them had been said while on his way to make her lunch. The strong, level-headed part of her brain was trying to push that fact forward, but unfortunately it wasn't having much luck. She was tired, in pain, and the cornucopia of drugs she was taking was playing havoc with her emotions.

A touch on her face and her eyes sprang open. He had her cheek cupped in his hand and was looking at her with a sort of softness in his eyes. She had no idea how he'd made it back across the room without making any noise. "I see the side effects are kicking in."

She just stared at him, feeling sheepish and slightly overwhelmed. "Something like that," she replied.

"S'alright. I haven't had the best day either."

She nodded in understanding and when he moved his hand she reached out and clasped it gently. He winced and she turned it over in her hand and looked at him questioningly.

"Hit a brick wall," he said lightly as he pulled it away. "Now sit tight while I get your lunch."

Leaning back against the cushions she watched him leave the room and head for the kitchen. It felt surreal having him there. Having him do something as normal as make lunch. Normally she was the one telling him to eat and grabbing him something from the cafeteria. This… whatever this turned into… was going to take some getting used to.

The windows were open and a light breeze drifted into the room. Cameron closed her eyes and let it relax her. She had always preferred the spring-time. It came gently, with soft bird songs and the smell of flowers and fresh-cut grass. She breathed in and could just catch a hint of lilac in the air. She concentrated on it because concentrating on House made her nervous. She wanted to be in the kitchen with him, or she wanted him in the living room with her. It just felt strange to have him wandering around her apartment on his own. It made it seem a little bit too much like he belonged there and she was not ready to start thinking that.

The fragrance of lilacs passed and was replaced by something else, something cooking. Cameron opened her eyes and leaned forward. He was cooking? Whatever it was, it smelled good. She heard him coming down the hall and quickly wiped the look of astonishment off her face. Step-thump. Step-thump, and then he was leaning into the room.

"It's almost done. Where are your meds? I know you're supposed to take at least two of them with food."

"What did you do, memorize my chart?"

"What if I did?"

She didn't have an answer for that. "They're all lined up on my nightstand." She said, deciding to answer his first question instead.

He gave a short nod and moved away from the door. Step-thump. Step-thump. A minute later and she heard him coming back. She'd propped her legs up on the sofa to get more comfortable, but she swung them down and looked towards the doorway expectantly.

"I hope you like omelets," he announced as he came into view, carrying a heavily laden tray one-handed. "Not exactly lunch food, but you had a bunch of vegetables in there that were about ready to give up the ghost."

"I love them," Cameron answered, again trying to keep look of surprise hidden. It was obviously a losing battle because House was looking at her with his head cocked to the side and one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied, "I just didn't know you cooked."

"Did you think I'd survived all this time on Kraft macaroni and take-out?" He put the tray on the coffee table and handed her a glass of water and an Atlantic City shot glass with three pills rattling around the bottom.

"I guess I never thought about it," she admitted, then tossed the pills to the back of her throat and swallowed them along with the water. She would never understand how House could dry swallow his vicodin. Probably all that practice.

House picked up the tray and put it on her lap. "Eat up. Maybe if you're really appreciative I'll make you dinner some night," he said as he sat down, glad to be off his feet.

It was meant to sound like an afterthought, a throw-away line, like a dozen sly asides he'd sent her way, but this one felt different. His voice went down as he said it and it lacked that suggestive tone he used so often.

"It's wonderful."

"You haven't even tasted it yet."

"I'm hedging my bets."

She was smiling and he felt like doing the same. Damn, she was already getting to him.

"Just shut up and eat."

The smile dimmed to a grin, but her eyes still held that lightness she carried when she was pleased. "What are you going to eat?"

"Not hungry," he replied, leaning forward to grab a dishtowel from the tray.

There was ice wrapped in the towel and he pressed it against his sore knuckles. Cameron cut into her omelet and pretended not to notice.

The amazed look reappeared on Cameron's face as she took her first bite, and then her second. "This really is good!"

"Glad you approve," House said with a smirk.

She ate a few more bites. "Are you going to tell me what really happened to your hand?" she asked, not looking up from her food.

House readjusted the ice and leaned back. "Wasn't planning on it," he said, propping his legs up on the coffee table. Was she one of those women who hated feet on the furniture? Was he turning into one of those men who cared what women like that thought? Damn, this was harder than he remembered. With Stacy it had started with wild, drunken sex after a hospital banquet. It was difficult to feel self-conscious with someone you'd fucked six ways from Sunday. Cameron was definitely nothing like Stacy.

"Okay." She gave a little shrug and went back to her food.

Damn her and that soft-positional bargaining book. He needed to find it and burn it.

"Vogler," he spat out. She was bound to find out sooner or later. Actually, now that he thought about it he was mildly surprised that Wilson hadn't called to tell her.

"Vogler?" She looked up. He had her complete attention now.

"Yes. Vogler. I punched him in the face."

Cameron looked like she was about to launch into a coughing fit and brought the glass of water to her lips.

"You punched Vogler?"

"Yes, I punched him. I punched the chairman of the board. I punched the man who is giving the hospital one-hundred million dollars. I punched my boss," House rolled his eyes as he repeated Cuddy's words. "Well, technically he probably won't be my boss for much longer."

She didn't bother commenting on that last statement. He was probably right, and denying it would just be an insult. "I can't believe you actually hit him. What on earth did he say to you?"

"He thanked me for giving him more ammunition."

Cameron gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, you meant before I hit him!" he said in mock surprise. "Nothing in particular. It just needed to be done."

"Why do I have a feeling it was more than that?"

"Suspicious mind? Maybe I'm rubbing off on you?"

She cocked her head to the side as she smirked. "I don't remember any rubbing taking place."

House stared at her and swallowed hard. "Are the drugs doing your talking again?"

The smirk turned into a small grin. "Possibly."

He pulled his aching leg off the table and stood up. "In that case, maybe I should go take care of the kitchen clean-up."

Cameron raised one eyebrow. "Afraid I'll rub off on you?"

"Possibly," he mimicked her words and left while she was still thinking of a snappy comeback.

Great. From needy and tearful to pushy and forward. That was just perfect. She let her head fall backwards against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. There was a little water spot above her and she squinted at it, thinking she could see a face. Elvis? No… it looked closer to Vogler.

Damn, she hadn't gotten him to open up about that. Obviously something had been said between them for House to finally haul off and clock him. Well, she wasn't about to ask him again. If he wanted to tell her, he'd tell her. And if he didn't… well, maybe Foreman or Dr. Wilson knew something.

"Taking a little cat-nap?"

His words startled her back to full-awareness and she sat up as he walked over to her. He reached out a hand and felt her forehead.

"You know," she said after he'd assured himself that she wasn't running a fever, "if you really want to touch me, you could just sit down and give me a hug like normal people." She regretted the words almost as soon as they'd crossed her lips and she wanted to pluck them out of the air where they hung between them.

House was silent for a minute, observing her, his thoughts well-hidden behind suddenly expressionless eyes. "I'm not exactly the most normal person you're likely to meet," he said lowly.

"You're wrong about that. I think you're more normal than you want to believe. You're brilliant and sarcastic and defensive, but none of those things changes what you really want."

He leaned forward on his cane and affected a mockingly interested look. "So you know what I want, do you? Aren't you the one who said that I didn't know what you needed, but now you're an expert in what I want?"

"That was different," she replied, wishing that she'd just backpedaled and avoided this conversation.

"Different how?"

"Well we were fighting, for one thing. Now we're just talking."

"So semantics really makes the difference? I'll have to remember that."

She sighed and met his eyes, trying to convey something through them that she wasn't able to through words. "Up on the roof, you were trying to convince me that wanting you in my life was a mistake. Why?"

"I think we've been over this," he scoffed. "The whole miserable bastard bit, and all that."

"Right, but why would that make wanting you a mistake?"

He had started to pace, but he halted his progress half-way across the floor and turned to her. "Because you deserve better. Maybe a nice, young, blond pediatrician with a good bedside manner and a golden retriever named Rascal."

"Now you're the one using semantics. Young, blond dog-owner or blue-eyed, bitter, cane-owner. Either way it's someone to connect with. Someone to hold me and argue with me and make up and start all over again. The only difference is the person I want that with is not blond, and I'm allergic to dogs. That's what makes you normal. Because I don't believe for one second that you don't want that too… no matter how bitter and miserable you are."

He had expected some flowery speech, some declaration of love, some treatise on how they completed each other and were two halves of the same whole. That wasn't what he'd gotten, and he was taken aback.

When he still didn't say anything, she decided to plow forward. "We've already established that we like each other. We've already kissed. Now, could you please come over and sit down so that I can relax instead of feeling like you're about to bolt out the door?"

House's mouth curled into an approximation of a grin as he raised one eyebrow in a sort of salute. "Are you the same woman who looked like I'd just run over her puppy half an hour ago?"

"Apparently I really needed food," she shot back.

He limped slowly over to the sofa and Cameron tried to control the suddenly frantic beating of her heart. Whatever had come over her to allow her to speak her mind fled out the window when he came in such close proximity. He sat down and put his feet back up on the coffee table. When she didn't move, he turned his head to look at her with an expectant and humorous look in his eyes.

"Isn't this the part where you put your head on my shoulder and fall asleep while I whisper sweet nothings into your hair?"

"If you start whispering sweet nothings I'll have to start counting my pills," she replied as she moved closer.

When she was within arm's reach he stretched out his hand and pulled her snug against his side, then draped his arm around her shoulder as she made herself comfortable.

"True enough," he said. "Now where's the remote for the television?"


	7. Chapter 7

_I'm pretty sure I have the best cheering squad ever! Grissom, your compliments almost made me blush... and they definitely made me grin. Shippie, Mariel3, Val'istar En'Alu,Taramis, Peraevum and everyone else (I know I'm missing people and will kick myself later...) your continuous feedback spurs me on!_

Chapter 7

The end credits for General Hospital were rolling, Cameron was sound asleep and House's left arm was beginning to go numb. He looked down at her face and watched the way her eyelashes fluttered delicately against her pale cheek. She was dreaming and he wondered what it was about. Flexing his hand he tried to get some feeling back in his arm, but it wasn't working. Obviously carrying her to the bedroom was out of the question. Hell, he had never carried a woman anywhere even when he'd had the use of both legs.

"Cameron?" He jostled her slightly and she stirred. "You're crushing me."

One eye opened half-way. "How can I be crushing you?"

"Apparently your head weighs a lot more than it would appear. Must be all those brains."

"Was that some sort of back-handed compliment?" she asked as she pushed herself up enough for him to reclaim his arm.

He smirked. "Read into it whatever you like."

"How long was I out?" Sleep was still crowding the corners of her vision and she squinted towards the clock on the VCR.

"Well, I think you caught the end of The Bold and The Beautiful but you were passed out fifteen minutes into General Hospital."

She pushed herself a little farther away. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You probably would have been asking all sorts of annoying questions about who's sleeping with who and how someone who only looks thirty years old can have two kids over the age of eighteen."

"You have a point. If we're going to make this a habit I'll have to do some research."

"Now I know what to get you for a get-well present… a subscription to 'Soap Opera Digest'."

She smiled at him, then grimaced as she twisted in just the wrong way. He looked at her with a combination of concern and annoyance.

"Still in pain?"

"It's manageable," she answered with a shrug. "Like you said a few days ago, I did have a bullet dug out of my chest less than a week ago."

His look of distaste almost matched hers. Somehow those words sounded worse coming out of her mouth than his and he wasn't exactly sure why.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Cameron looked at him, not sure what to say. "Did you tell Dr. Cuddy you were leaving for the day?" she asked and then mentally slapped herself. He was suspended. He didn't need to tell anyone where he was going.

"I talked to her before I left. Had to give her the heads-up about Vogler after all. Didn't want the police storming the place and her wondering what the hell was going on."

"You don't really think he called the police, do you?" Her hand was suddenly touching his leg gently, and she wasn't exactly sure how that had happened.

He shook his head, face showing his disgust with even Vogler's name. "Probably not. He'd already called for a board meeting, and the bastard already had other plans for me."

"What do you mean?" Cameron looked at him questioningly, surprised that he was revealing so much. For anyone else it wouldn't have been anything, but for House it was more than she expected.

House looked her in the eye, seeming to weigh the options of telling her any more. He seemed to be weighing her. Judging what to say and what to keep to himself. It felt like being under a high powered microscope and she squirmed.

"Just the usual threats," he said finally. "You know the type. 'I'll make your life a living hell', 'You'll never work in this town again', 'A pox be on both your houses'."

"Your reputation is a lot longer than his," she offered, feeling stupid and ineffectual. Was that the drugs or was it just the awkwardness of him actually sounding almost vulnerable?

"True, and I'm much prettier too," he quipped.

"Was that why you hit him? He threatened you?" She hadn't meant to push and she inwardly rolled her eyes.

"Something like that," he replied. "But hey, let's stop talking about the Vogler and discuss something more pleasant, like the use of maggots in treating infections."

Cameron's face twisted into a comical squint. "Let's not and say we did."

"In that case, how about making prank calls to Cuddy's office? She could probably use the distraction."

She managed to talk him out of that, but it was a near thing and what really ended the discussion was the insistent ringing of the phone. It was one of those annoyingly shrill cordless models and House grabbed it from the end table and handed it over to Cameron.

"Hello? Yes, this is she."

House leaned back and studied a picture that was hanging across the room. He hated hearing one-sided phone conversations. Always awkward.

"Yes. Yes. I understand. Tomorrow would probably be all right."

House turned towards her with an inquiring expression which changed to concern when he saw that Cameron had turned approximately two shades lighter than a bedsheet.

"Fine. Yes. Thank you for calling." She hung up and House waited patiently for her to tell him what was going on. "They caught him," she said, and there was no doubt who she meant.

A startling anger rose in House's chest. "Good. Son of a bitch should rot in jail. What'd he do, try to knock over a liquor store?"

She shook her head. "He attacked another woman not far from here. He raped and killed her," she went on, her voice sounding oddly distant. "But I guess… he… he left some evidence behind. That's how they traced him. And the bullets…" she gestured to her chest. "They matched." She felt dizzy and sick, like she was about to be sucked into a dark hole, and there were tears in her eyes and she didn't know where they'd come from.

"Cameron." House's voice was strong and his hand covered hers. "Breathe, Cameron." He was focused on her face, studying the lost look in her eyes and trying to draw her back. "Don't think about it."

But she couldn't help thinking about it. She'd already spent a week ignoring it. "I… I thought he just wanted my money," she pushed the words out.

She remembered getting out of her car, feeling depressed and not paying attention to a man walking nearby. She remembered bending over to get the groceries out of the back seat, and then strong, rough hands on her arms, hot fetid breath against her cheek. She hadn't even screamed; she'd just whirled around, hitting him in the chest with a bag of frozen vegetables. She hadn't seen the gun, but she'd seen the flash of fire at the same instant she'd felt the horrible pressure in her chest knocking her back against the car and she'd struggled to stay standing as the shock of what was happening had sunk in. The sound of footsteps running away echoed in her memory, mixed in with the feeling of the cold pavement beneath her body and the struggle to breathe. She had known she was dying, tasted the blood in the back of her throat, felt her chest filling with it, and grasped at consciousness with all that she had. More footsteps, and her landlord from next door leaning over her, talking to the 911 operators, pressing something against her chest. The bag of vegetables still clutched in her hand, melting, leaving her in a puddle, or was that her blood? Then there had just been noise and lights, and a thudding, distant pain that hadn't even feel connected to her body. Flashes of faces and needles and then, there was House, and then nothing.

"Easy, Cameron, easy," House's voice was still there, and she realized he had her bent forward, head down. She was sobbing and hyperventilating at the same time. His hand anchored her, rubbing up and down her back, "You have to calm down," he sounded stern but anxious, using words of comfort that came unnaturally to his lips. "Breathe slower. Slower." His hand was moving in rhythm with his words. "You're all right. Calm down. I'm here." That last was said haltingly. Only two words but they were charged with multiple meanings.

Cameron's sobs became hiccups and her breathing slowly evened out. House felt relief sweep through him. She sat up, but clutched her arms around her chest and tried to bite back a scream. It felt like her chest was being ripped open by vicious clawing beasts.

"Shit," House moved faster than he thought he could, standing up and swinging her legs up onto the sofa so that she was lying down, head resting against a throw pillow.

He started pulling at her shirt but her hands batted his away. "I'm okay. It'll pass. It'll pass," she repeated, gasping and feeling like a complete idiot.

House's eyes hardened to stone as he lowered himself to sit next to her hip. "Move your goddamned hands," he ordered and Cameron looked at him, startled, and let her arms fall to her sides.

She was still wearing the cotton shirt from the day before, but he didn't bother unbuttoning it. It was loose and he tugged the hem up, baring the long incision but leaving her breasts mostly covered. Cameron's face was turned towards the back of the sofa. He could feel the pounding of her heart in his fingertips as he touched her. He pressed gently, muscles in his neck tightening when she winced.

"That hurts?"

"It hurt before," she replied. "It isn't any worse."

"It's worse," he countered. "You pulled two stitches. You're bleeding. Don't move."

He levered himself off the sofa and walked to the bathroom as quickly as he could, gathering up the same supplies he had used before. She was still lying, unmoving, when he returned.

"I told Wilson that Fraser was an idiot for releasing you so early," he muttered as he used a gauze pad to dab at the blood weeping from her wound. It wasn't terrible, two of the staples had just pulled apart slightly, but the entire area looked raw and sore. He cleaned it with disinfectant, trying to ignore when she flinched. "Damned doctor. What the hell was he thinking."

"He didn't want to release me," Cameron admitted. "I told him I'd leave AMA if he didn't."

House glared at her. It was much easier than letting the fear and anxiety show. "Well that wasn't one of your smarter moves, was it?"

"I was fine until five minutes ago," she argued.

For once, House decided to let her have the last word. He finished examining her and pulled her shirt back down. "All right, I think you'll live."

"Thanks." She turned her head to look at him and held up one hand. "Help me sit up?" She knew her muscles wouldn't be able to take the strain.

He snaked one hand behind her back, between her shoulder blades and lifted her into a seated position, tucking the pillow behind her back. "Better?" he asked, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious.

"Yes," she said quietly, but what she was really feeling was drained and foolish.

House sat back down on the sofa and looked at her, trying to decide which one of them should talk first. "Whatever happened to the days when the police came to people's houses to give them disturbing news?"

"I think that went out a long time ago," Cameron replied with a sigh.

Silence fell over them again.

"You want to talk about it? You never actually told me what happened."

"Not right now," was her response. She was already feeling naked and exposed beneath his clear blue gaze.

She looked small and defenseless, sitting wedged into the corner of the sofa, and House's hands suddenly balled into fists as he had a sudden flash of what the bastard sitting in jail had planned to do to her. He wanted to punch something, but he'd already done that. He settled for moving until his leg was brushing against hers and pulling her gently into his embrace. When she released a breath she had been holding and relaxed against him, he felt a knot form in his throat. Damn. He was falling, and it was a long way down.

"Thank you for coming over," she said quietly.

"Well that's what normal people do, right?"

He felt her slight smile against his chest. "Yes, but thanks anyway."

They sat in silence as the minutes ticked by, the sound of distant traffic the only background noise. Cameron's eyes were closed and one hand was curled so tightly around House's shirt that her knuckles were white. The tension in the rest of her body had eased, but that one hand refused to loosen its grip.

The sound of House's heartbeat beneath her ear was comforting, strong and steady. His arms around her body were warm and reassuring. It had been a very long time since anyone had held her. Longer than she wanted to admit. But House wasn't just anyone, and she knew that he had to be uncomfortable with her clinging to him. Any minute he would start to fidget, and then he would crack some joke. She didn't want to push him to that so instead she pushed away.

Slowly she uncurled her fist and sat up, wiping a hand across her face. "Sorry, I know you're not the cuddly type and I think I've permanently wrinkled your shirt," she said with a weak smile.

House was a little taken aback when she moved out of his arms, and even more taken aback by the fact that he missed the warm, solid weight of her against his chest. He glanced down at his shirt and snapped back to himself. "I'll put it on your bill."

Cameron looked at him curiously. "Bill?"

"Right. I'm your new home health aide, remember?"

She let out a short laugh. "Well you have done a bang-up job so far," she agreed, setting slightly more distance between them as she leaned against the arm of the sofa.

"And you didn't even have to interview me for the position," he said with a cocky grin.

A slight grin passed over her lips and his hand twitched. Damn, why did he just want to pull her back into his arms? Not cuddly? He was going to turn into the fucking snuggle fabric softener bear if he spent much more time around her.

"I don't know if an aide would watch soaps with me either," she added.

House clenched his hand around his cane and stood up. "No, probably not."

Cameron glanced from him to the clock to the door. He was going to leave. "It's getting late," she said, keeping her voice very even.

House raised one eyebrow. "It's five-thirty," he said dryly, then looked at her questioningly. Maybe he was misreading her. "Did you want me to leave? You're probably tired."

"I just had a two hour nap."

"And a half-hour panic attack," House reminded her, then mentally kicked himself in the ass.

"I'm okay."

He nodded, and decided to take her at her word. "You probably wouldn't turn down a painkiller though," he said. "That's what I got up to get you." He omitted the part about needing space before devolving into a stuffed animal of some sort.

"I wouldn't turn one down," she admitted.

"All right. Sit tight." He limped out of the room, and then called back over his shoulder, "I'll call for dinner while I'm at it. You only get one home-cooked meal a day outta me for the amount you're paying me,"

He came back five minutes later with a glass of water in his hand. He gave it to her and then fished a bottle out of his pocket, read the label and popped the cap off. "These would be mine," he said as he dry swallowed two of them while Cameron winced. He reached into the pocket again and brought out another bottle. "These are yours."

She reached for them, but he held them up beyond her grasp and she gave him a puzzled look.

"Not so fast. Answer a question first. Tell me how bad the pain is, and remember that we're both doctors."

A sigh passed between her lips. "Worse than this morning," she confirmed his suspicions, "but better than three days ago."

"Three days? You had to go back three days to find a day that was worse?"

"You said one question. Hand over the pills."

He dropped them into her hand but stared at her until she looked him in the eye. "If it gets any worse you know you have to go back to the hospital."

"I know. I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Right. Just checking." He sat down again, but on the chair rather than the sofa. He still needed that distance. "You never told me if you wanted me to leave."

She shrugged. "You've been here for hours. I figured you'd be reaching your limit of 'normal people' time."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you. I've got music, scotch and cigars back at my place. Perfect to dwell in my misery on my last night as a head of diagnostics… or anything else. Turns out I'd rather be here. Now toss that remote over here. And remind me to get you tivo."


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter is a bit rough I think and I may make some edits and upload again in a few days, but I didn't want to hold you in suspense!_

_Thanks for all your feedback!_

Chapter 8

It was after six-thirty, but the sick and injured rarely kept to a nine-to-five schedule and most of the hospital was still just as active as it had been earlier in the day. The hallway leading to Dr. Lisa Cuddy's office was one of the exceptions. The offices there were mainly used by other administrators who had long since left for the day. Only Cuddy's door remained open.

"Knock, knock." Wilson stood in the door-way and rapped against the steel support.

Cuddy looked up from the stack of paperwork she'd been seemingly engrossed in. She looked tired.

"You'll be at the meeting, I assume," she said, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I'll be there. Wouldn't want to miss out on all the fun."

"You're not going to vote him out, are you?" It was really more statement than question.

"What do you think?"

"Vogler's not going to accept that without a fight."

"Vogler's an ass."

"An ass with one hundred million dollars."

"I'd like to think this hospital's integrity is worth more than that."

Cuddy was taken aback and didn't have an easy response.

Seeing the look of hurt flash across her face, Wilson relented. "I'm sorry. I know it hasn't exactly been a picnic for you."

"No, not exactly. One hard-headed, insufferable bastard is all I can take, apparently."

Wilson shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. "Well it looks like you'll be getting your wish. I know which one I'd pick."

"It isn't that easy. We're talking about--"

"One hundred million dollars. Yeah, I know. But what do you think is going to happen two weeks down the road? Two months? Two years? Vogler's going to hold that money over your head to get exactly what he wants, and then, when he's through playing philanthropic millionaire, he'll leave and go back to his office and his mansion. You know what will be left? A hospital in disarray and a lot of new equipment."

Cuddy leaned back in her chair and released a long, drawn-out sigh. "I know what you're saying is true, but damn, why do I have to be the one in this position?"

Wilson flashed her a brief smile, "I don't know, I think you were made for this job. Who better to keep us in line than the biggest hard-ass of them all?"

She smirked at him and replied, "True, but sometimes even momma needs a day at the spa."

* * *

One bowl of soup, one salad, one serving of chicken alfredo and the forced consumption of broccoli.

When House had told her that he'd ordered food, Cameron had expected Chinese again or possibly pizza. She had definitely not expected a delivery from the Italian restaurant across town that the entire team had gone to after one particularly hard case. He claimed she needed to eat right if she expected to get better. Of course she couldn't argue with that.

"Fine. I ate broccoli. Happy now?" She pushed her plate across the kitchen table in his direction.

"Thrilled." House smirked at her and stacked her plate on top of his.

"You realize you're turning into Nurse Ratchet, right?"

House continued to smirk but the truth was that the incident earlier had scared him. She had seemed to be doing fine, walking around, talking, even fighting with him. Then, one phone call and he'd realized that she was not even close to fine. Every time he saw the suture line up her chest he wanted to vomit, especially since he knew what it had looked like inside. Making her eat wasn't exactly brain… or heart… surgery, but at least he felt like he was doing something.

"Are you ready to get in bed?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"It's not even eight o'clock."

He just stared at her and she sighed and let her shoulders slump.

"You're right. I am tired," she admitted. "And I'm tired of being tired."

"How's the pain?"

"Better," she lied. It wasn't better but it wasn't worse and she didn't want to risk having him order her to the ER. This gruff-caring side of him was tough to figure out.

House leaned on the table as he stood up and gathered the dishes. He walked the two steps to the sink without his cane turned on the water. Cameron watched him, surprised once again. Was he just keeping busy because he didn't know what else to do or say? Probably, but it was still interesting to see a slightly different side of him.

"Go get ready for bed," he said over his shoulder. "I'll be done in a minute and I'll bring your tasty desert of painkillers and antibiotics to your room."

"You don't have to do that," Cameron replied, getting to her feet slowly. "I can manage."

"I'm sure you can, but I'm here and if I left and then you slipped and knocked yourself unconscious in the bathroom I'd feel rather guilty in the morning."

Cameron just rolled her eyes and shuffled out of the room. It was obvious that this was yet another argument she was destined to lose. At the same time, she felt a pleasant warmth suffuse her body when she considered that with all the opportunities he'd had to leave, he was still in her kitchen, doing the dishes.

Unfortunately, as she walked into the bathroom her happy thoughts were interrupted by the daunting prospect of taking a shower. She'd only managed a quick sponge bath the day before and her hair felt limp and horrible, but lifting her hands up that high without pulling at her already sore incision was not going to be easy. Not to mention the fact that she really wasn't supposed to get the stitches too wet.

She unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged out of it, careful to avoid facing the mirror. She'd already made that mistake once and the sight of her body had sent stinging tears to her eyes. Water was quickly turned on and the rest of her clothes shed. She waited for the water to heat up, watching for the puff of steam to appear from over the shower rod. As soon as it did, she pulled back the curtain and gingerly stepped in, supporting herself against the cool tile wall and keeping her back to the spray of water.

One hand moved quickly to her chest when she moved too fast. Shit, this was awkward. All she wanted to do was get clean and she could hardly move. Her shampoo was on the edge of the tub, and bending over to get it was out of the question. She settled for letting the water soak into her hair and run down her back while she rubbed soap over the parts of her body that she could reach.

If she called out she knew that House would come and help but she'd be damned if she let him see her like this. Bad enough that he'd already basically seen it all, she just couldn't let him see her even more helpless. And yes, vanity played into it too. He'd seen the sutures as almost a separate part of her body, not connected to it, just surrounded by the soft material of a shirt. She didn't want him seeing the complete package, her body looking like something straight from Frankenstein or the morgue.

In the back of her mind she realized that if they actually had a relationship, he was eventually going to have to see her naked. As usual, the facts had little effect on her feelings.

A sharp rapping at the door. "Are you alive in there?"

"I'm fine," she called back. "Give me another minute."

She tried to reach behind herself to shut off the water, but the lancing pain up her chest made that a Bad Decision and she bit her lip in anger and frustration. Fine. She'd just have to get out of the shower and drip all over the floor. Her bathmat was squishing by the time she finished drying off, and her hair was still dripping down her back.

Getting dressed again was another ordeal and by the time she finally opened the bathroom door she felt like she'd done some sort of workout. These were the kinds post-op problems they didn't tell you about in medical school. Her bedside manner was already good, but she could feel it improving every time she tried to do something and couldn't.

House was standing right outside the bathroom door and she had to stop short to avoid running into him. She could have sworn she'd seen a dozen emotions flash across his face in quick succession, but then he gave a quick blink and went back to his usual semi-sardonic gaze.

"You give new meaning to the phrase 'rode hard and put away wet'," he commented.

A sarcastic grin was his reward. "Gee, thanks."

"Did you even try drying your hair? I thought all you women had those annoyingly loud electric dryers."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "I dropped mine and broke it last week, and it hurts to hold my arms up long enough to towel it dry. Okay?" She moved to squeeze past him and he did the same, walking around her and into the bathroom. She stopped and looked at him quizzically, and then fought to control her heartbeat as he grabbed a towel and returned to her side. He turned her to face away from him and proceeded to wrap the towel around her hair, squeezing out the water and rubbing it dry. It wasn't something he had any experience doing and he was slightly rough and Cameron let out an involuntary squeak.

"Sorry," he said brusquely and then continued more gently for another minute. "There." He pulled the towel away and tossed it back into the bathroom to land on the sink. "At least now you won't drown on your pillow."

Cameron turned and looked up at him and his eyes captured hers. She suddenly didn't know what to say. She felt like she should say something. A snappy comeback? Thanks? Please lean down and kiss me? The decision was taken out of her hands when the phone rang, and House broke eye contact to go and answer it.

House tried to reconcile his actions with his generally bad attitude as he walked to the kitchen. That was three times in one day that he'd caught himself being a damn soft-hearted fool. It wasn't as if he never had caring thoughts about other people, hell he'd even found himself caring about patients now and then, but the key was that he never acted on those feelings, at least not openly. But she had come out of the bathroom so fast, and the wide-eyed look of surprise, combined with her generally bedraggled appearance had somehow turned her into one of the most beautiful things he'd seen. Damnit. Now he was going to have to be extra snarky to Wilson to make up for all this recent sappiness.

The phone rang for the fourth time and House yanked it from it's stand on the counter. "Hello," he snapped.

"House?"

"No, I'm Cameron's secret boyfriend."

"Well the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive," Wilson said slyly.

House rolled his eyes. "If you're calling to check on her she just got in bed. I'll be sure to tell her you called," he said in a tone that clearly said he'd do nothing of the kind.

"Actually I called to talk to you. I tried your phone and when you weren't there I had a feeling I knew where you were."

"Ah, the amazing Kreskin does it again," House said dryly.

"Aren't you going to ask me about the board meeting?"

"I considered it, but I figured you'd get around to it eventually. Are you going to clear my office out for me? Because if you are the only thing I really care about is my iPod. I accidentally left it on the desk."

"Well, you can get it yourself, because it looks like you'll be staying for a while."

House straightened up, not even realizing he'd been slouching. "What?" The question was purely rhetorical but he needed something to fill the air. He had just about reconciled himself to he fact that his days at PPTH were over and Wilson's words came as a shock. A feeling of relief passed through his body, loosening tight muscles and unclenching his stomach. He had told himself that it was just another hospital. He had told himself that he could get a better job anywhere. What he hadn't admitted was that he actually enjoyed the place. After over ten years it felt like a second home. A second home complete with a dysfunctional family. He had to snap himself back to the present. Wilson was talking again.

"Yeah, Cuddy managed to talk to all of the board members before Vogler even showed up. She gave a great speech, let me tell you."

"And Vogler actually backed down?"

"Hell no! He had the gall to say that he was going to the papers about the sorry state of the hospital and its doctors. Then he made the mistake of accusing you of sexually harassing the staff."

House's hand gripped his cane so tight the wood almost creaked.

"Lucky for you, being a misanthropic bastard actually worked in your favor. The other members almost laughed at the idea of you seeing another person as human, nevermind sexual." Wilson laughed and House smirked.

"Har, har. Yes, that is amusing." He was quiet for a second. "Vogler didn't mention any names, did he?" House felt he had to ask. People could talk about him as much as they wanted but it made him slightly sick to think of Cameron's name being bandied about like that.

"No. No names."

"So what did Vogler end up doing?"

"Exactly what I thought he'd do. He had a hissy-fit like a great big five-year-old, and stormed out, presumably to contact his lawyer and arrange for a swift return of his hundred mil."

"Cuddy can't be happy about that," House frowned slightly.

"Happy, no, but I think she feels like she got her self-respect back."

"Better than nothing I suppose."

"So how's the lovely Dr. Cameron? Have you been there all day?" Wilson knew he shouldn't be teasing him, but found it damn near impossible not to.

"None of your business," House growled.

"Well just keep in mind, she's had surgery. She's not up for any rough stuff."

"You know, smug is not very attractive on you?"

"Really? And here you once said it was the perfect look for you."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

"Goodnight. Give her a little peck for me."

House hung up the phone harder than necessary and turned to go back to the bedroom. Damn Wilson. If there was kissing involved it definitely wasn't going to be by proxy.

He thumped his way over to the sink, filled a glass of water, deposited three bottles of pills into his pocket and headed back to Cameron's bedroom. Rough stuff. Where the hell did Wilson get that stuff? They hadn't even been on a single date, just a very enjoyable but extremely non-date-like date. Unless this also counted as a date. Did it? Where exactly did caring for an invalid you have feelings for fall in the date continuum? House shook his head and turned into the bedroom. Great. Now he was babbling in his thoughts.

Cameron was sitting up in bed with a book in her hands and her dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose when he entered. "Who was on the phone?"

"Wrong number."

She looked at him over the top of her glasses and raised her eyebrows. "Awfully long wrong number."

"Bother, you're no fun at all," he sniped good-naturedly. "It was Wilson."

The board meeting was instantly at the forefront of her mind, but she hesitated to say anything. Damn his unreadable expression!

"You can stop looking all conflicted," he decided to show some mercy to the injured. "It looks like I still have a job and Vogler has taken his money and run. Well actually, with all that weight he's packing, he probably walked, but you get the idea."

Cameron's expression had changed to one of wide-eyed astonishment. "I can't believe it. He's really gone?"

"Really, most sincerely gone," House replied, "to paraphrase 'The Wizard of Oz'."

If her expression could have become any more surprised, it would have at his mention of Oz.

"Don't look so surprised. Didn't you know that if you start Pink Floyd's 'Darkside of the Moon' when the MGM lion roars for the third time, you get a whole new trippy soundtrack?"

Her laugh reminded him of wind-chimes and he quickly glanced away before the full effect of her smile stole over him.

She was still grinning when she shook her head saying, "I just can't believe it. After all that… nothing."

The grin faded slightly as she thought about the weeks of uncertainty and the moments of angst leading to her eventual resignation. It hadn't been all about Vogler, and House knew that. He had just been the final straw, suffocating her under the weight and forcing her to confront her feelings. When House limped around to the side of the bed she looked up at him wondering if he was really as cool as he seemed.

"I'm glad things will be able to go back to normal… well, almost normal," she amended.

He nodded and made sure that their fingers would touch as he handed her the glass of water. "Yes. Almost." He looked at her then and his eyes were questioning her, asking her as loud as words.

"I can't go back," she said quietly. "At least, not until I know where things are going..." she hesitated, and moved her hand in the air, "between us," she finally finished. "And even then I don't know. It could be awkward and I'm sure Cuddy wouldn't approve."

"Ah. Right. Us." It was awkward standing over her, and he didn't really want to sit on the bed but the only chair was on the other side of the room. Oh, to hell with it. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, hip just brushing against her thigh. "This normal relationship you keep mentioning. I think we've established the 'I like you, you like me' business. So now, what exactly are you expecting?"

Naturally, he had to start with the hard questions. Honestly she couldn't believe he was talking about it at all. She gave a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know, exactly. In a sense we already know each other… although I think you have an advantage. I never got to see your CV," she grinned impishly, "but most of that is work stuff. I want to know you outside of the hospital." She quickly held up her hand to stop his inevitably snarky response. "I'm not asking for you to tell me your whole life story, but a little something would be nice."

"I'm an only child. Is that enough?"

She smirked. "It's a start." Her eyes grew serious and House was captivated by them. "We had fun, that one night out. Didn't we? I'm not asking for the moon here, and I promise, I won't turn into something out of 'Fatal Attraction' if things don't work out. I just think that we could try doing that a little more regularly."

He nodded. "I think I could manage that," he replied, "and you'll notice I don't even own a rabbit, so I think we're in the clear."

That little smile crept back onto her face and House looked away again, scrounging in his pocket for her pills. She looked thoughtful as she watched him.

"Does it bother you when I smile?"

Her words came as a surprise and his head shot up, eyes meeting hers instantly. Well, no sense lying about it.

"To be honest, yes. It's been a long time." He didn't bother specifying since what.

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

Again, he seemed surprised by the fact that she not only understood but also didn't press him for more. He popped the lids off all of the pill bottles and shook the right amounts into the palm of her outstretched hand, five in all. He was even slightly impressed when she swallowed them all at the same time.

"What time are you supposed to be at the police station tomorrow?" he asked after taking the glass from her hand.

Cameron had pushed off the thought of seeing her attacker again, and she wasn't happy to be reminded. "They said ten-thirty," she grudgingly replied.

"I'll be here at nine-thirty. We'll stop for breakfast."

"House, you can't do that. Vogler's gone. You need to get back to the hospital. I'll just call a cab."

He was shaking his head before her words had finished leaving her mouth. "Vogler's gone. My suspension isn't. I'm not cleared to see patients for another week."

Inside, she was letting out a sigh of relief, but she didn't let it show. "Well, if you're sure."

As good as she thought she was at hiding her emotions, House could see right through her. "I'm sure. Now get some sleep."

He started to stand up, but Cameron stuck out one hand and gently grabbed his wrist.

"Wait."

"You need something else?"

She just looked at him and he felt himself collapsing from the inside out. He was leaning forward without even meaning to, and when her grip on his wrist loosened he moved that hand to her hip. Her eyes closed as their lips met and he could have sworn she let out a satisfied little sigh. He felt her hand cover his, squeezing gently, and he flicked his tongue out to taste her lips. Mint and water and fresh air. She tasted like spring. The moment he realized that he didn't want to leave, he made himself pull away. Any more would only be painfully frustrating for both of them.

"I should go."

She looked relaxed and utterly content. "I know."

"Sleep well."


	9. Chapter 9

_Apologies for this being a slightly shorter chapter than usual._

Chapter 9

Dark and cold. Those were the words that best described House's first-floor condo. Even with the lights on it felt somehow dreary and empty. House draped his jacket over the leather sofa on his way to the kitchen. It didn't take long to pour himself a drink, and then he limped back to the living room and sat down at the piano.

He didn't play anything, he just sat there, head down, focused on the keys except for the moments when he looked up to take a drink. He considered lighting a cigar but they were over on the coffee table and frankly he didn't feel like moving. He was more in the mood to wallow in his thoughts.

Dating. He and Cameron were going to date. Maybe they already were. His stomach had formed a knot which had grown ever tighter the further he drove from Cameron's apartment, and he couldn't decide if it was caused by extreme fear or extreme anticipation. Probably a combination.

He wanted to be able to talk himself into the idea that he was only going along with the whole 'dating thing' for her sake. That yes, he liked her, but he knew a relationship would never work and he just didn't want to hurt her so this would be a good way to let her down easy. That after a few dates she would get bored or annoyed and then things would be able to go back to normal. But the truth was that things had never been normal between them, and his feelings were at least as much to blame as hers were.

The truth was that when he looked at her he felt parts of himself slip into place, and he'd felt that way for longer than he wanted to admit. Now it just remained for him to see if he could remember what it felt like to actually have someone who wanted to be around him, and to act accordingly. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be easy. Nothing about his life ever was. He plunked out a few bars of Sinatra's 'The Way You Look Tonight' and thought of how Cameron's face had shone when she'd smiled up at him. Maybe things didn't have to be so hard this time.

His fingers picked up speed as he played the rest of the song, and then moved on to Chopin's Nocturne Op.9, No.2 and back to modern music with a jazz riff on 'Puttin' On the Ritz'. He was half-way through that song when the phone rang. Normally he would have just let the machine get it, but this time he quickly pushed himself off the piano bench and crossed to the end-table to get it. It might be Cameron. Maybe she was feeling worse and needed to go to the ER.

"Hello?"

"Oh, so you decided against spending the night?"

House rolled his eyes and controlled his impulse to hang up. "Did you have a reason for calling?"

Wilson chuckled. "Not really. Just wanted to check in on you."

"Thanks, Mom. I got home safe and sound."

There was another low chuckle and then Wilson spoke again, his voice turning more serious. "You didn't really want to leave her place tonight, did you?"

House lowered himself to the sofa and slumped back against the soft leather. "No." Hell, if he couldn't tell his best friend, who could he tell?

"You and her talk things over?"

"As much as I ever do," he replied.

"And she was satisfied with that?"

Staring at a spot across the room, House saw again the look of understanding in Cameron's eyes. "She was satisfied." He gave a little smirk despite the fact that Wilson couldn't appreciate it. "I think we're dating."

"You think?"

"Fine, call it pre-dating. She isn't exactly up for dinner and a show."

"But when she is?"

House sighed in exasperation at Wilson's relentless yet endearing prying. "When she is, I'll be ready, willing and able."

He could almost see Wilson grinning through the phone. "I don't think you'll regret it. I really don't. She gets you, Greg. I don't know how, but she does."

Completely unexpectedly, House found the knot in his stomach slowly untangling itself. "You're right. God help her, she does."

"All right. I won't keep you up. You coming in to the hospital tomorrow?"

"No. They caught the son of a bitch who shot her and she's supposed to go down to the police station for an ID. I'm driving her."

"They caught him? Shit, I should have been watching the news! Why didn't you tell me before? She must be relieved."

House decided against telling Wilson about Cameron's immediate reaction. "Yes, she's very glad he's off the streets."

"I'll pass the word on to Cuddy and everyone else. I have a feeling they're going to be late tomorrow themselves… there was a bit of a celebration in your office after Vogler's departure."

"Thanks. And if anyone threw up in my trashcan I expect it gone by the time I get back."

"Gotcha. I'll make sure to warn Chase."

They hung up and House headed back to the piano. It was almost eleven and he wasn't even tired. Another sip of scotch made a warm trail down to his stomach and he poised his fingers over the keyboard trying to decide between Bach and Bohemian Rhapsody. He had just settled on Bach's 13th Invention when the phone rang again.

"Talk to the machine, Wilson," he called out.

Three rings and he heard his own voice saying "Leave a message but I probably won't call back."

"Umm… it's Allison… Cameron, I mean… I guess you didn't go home… or maybe you're asleep… you don't have to call…"

House had rushed for the phone before she'd even gotten her full name out. Damn his leg for making him so fucking slow.

He grabbed at the phone and jabbed at the answer button. "Cameron, what's wrong?"

"House?"

"Yeah, I was just letting the machine get it. I'm here and awake. What's wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to climb all the way up to my place tomorrow. I'll meet you on the porch."

If she had been there she would have seen the look of extreme disbelief on House's face.

"Try again. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible liar?"

A short sigh and a pause before she reluctantly answered him. "Okay. Truth. I couldn't sleep. I got scared. I wanted to hear someone's voice, and that someone was you."

House sat down on the sofa again. His heart wasn't actually beating any differently but it felt somehow strange. "Do you want me to come back over?"

"No… look… it was stupid to call you. Please forget that I did, okay? I'm not like this all the time, I swear." Jesus, she was going to scare him off before they went on a single date. Her hand gripped the phone tighter. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Cameron, hold on." Shit. Now what? Fuck why did this have to be so awkward? "Are you sure you're all right? How's the pain?"

"The painkillers took the edge off. I'm fine" she sounded horribly nervous and he could picture her knuckles tightening.

"You don't sound fine."

"Look, I told you I shouldn't have called. Let's just hang up, okay? Please?"

"You wanted to hear my voice."

Shit. "Yes," she said quietly. "Could you try not to hold that against me?"

He wanted to reach through the phone, brush the hair out of her eyes and talk to her without words. "Are you still scared?"

"No. It was just a noise outside. It was stupid."

"Are you still in bed?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying down?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes."

"Okay."

He got up from the sofa and limped over to the piano again, his leg throbbing after his race to the phone. "Eyes still closed?"

"Yes."

He put the phone down on the piano and started playing. His fingers flowed through Nocturne again, slowly and beautifully, every note ringing out clear and true. When he was finished he picked up the phone again.

"Cameron?" he said very quietly, and all he heard was the slow steady sound of her breathing.

A very slight, satisfied smile appeared on his face for an instant and he left the line open and carried the phone with him into the bedroom. For once he felt like sleeping and dreaming instead of dwelling on his pain.

* * *

Directly in front of Allison Cameron's front porch grew a very large and very old crabapple tree. Its branches reached outward and skyward in equal measure, gnarled and loaded with blossoms. Birds darted in and out of it, and lazy round bumblebees hovered around it, and Allison Cameron sat on her front steps looking at it. She remembered glancing at it the day she was shot. The flowers had only been plump, pink buds then, and now they were all open, white and clean, palest pink just barely touching their petals. She wanted to bury her face in them and breathe in their scent, but just walking down the stairs had been an ordeal and she satisfied herself with looking.

It was only a few minutes past nine but she had been antsy inside the house. Antsy and nervous, with her mind going over a hundred scenarios of what she should say to House when he arrived. Her mind was still doing that, but at least now she had something prettier than the wall to stare at.

She had woken up with the phone still in her hand. The line had long since gone dead but she'd held it to her ear anyway and sworn she could hear Chopin in the silence. She couldn't believe she had called him and far beyond belief was the memory of him playing her to sleep. It made her heart quicken and her stomach flutter just to think about it. But now she was stuck struggling to think of what to say to him about it. Or maybe she shouldn't say anything.

That might be the safest course of action. Probably the last thing he wanted was a 'thank you' for doing something he no doubt considered insufferably sentimental. And then there was her part in the whole little scene. She had been so horribly stupid to call him in the first place. She had been trying to convince him that she was strong… strong enough to handle anything he could throw at her… and then she had ruined it by calling him and sounding like a lost little girl. Thinking about it made her roll her eyes for the umpteenth time and press her fingers against her temples.

"You getting a headache?"

The sound of his voice startled her and she instantly turned her head in his direction. He was at the end of the walk, heading towards her, look of concern on his face.

"No… no, I'm fine."

"Did you sleep all right?"

Damn, he hadn't meant to ask her that! He hadn't meant to mention anything that could in anyway lead to discussion of the previous night. He couldn't believe what a ridiculous sap he'd been. At the time it had felt right, but in the cold light of five a.m. it had felt sickeningly sweet, like something out of a pathetic chick-flick. She probably thought it was the lamest thing ever, excepting perhaps House himself.

Cameron felt herself blushing. Great. Now she couldn't avoid it. "I slept fine." House was looking at her uncomfortably and she could almost feel the tension coming off him in waves. He had stopped walking towards her. She had to say something. "About last night…"

"Ah, yes, 'About Last Night'. Good movie. Demi Moore before she sold her soul to the devil and made 'Striptease', although that did have its moments." His eyes landed on everything but her face as he spoke, and when they finally ventured back to it she was frowning. Forced jocularity fell away and he took two thumping steps forward. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You were saying?"

Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything at all, but she no longer had a choice. "I was just going to apologize for calling, especially so late. I know I sounded like a needy, insecure little kid. I'll just have to blame the pain meds and swear it won't happen again…" She was staring at his feet, and then his cane, tracing the line up and down with her eyes.

House didn't say anything at first. He studied Cameron's face. Damn. She was looking at him as if she'd expected him to dump her before they even started dating and he was holding onto the words that could erase that expression from her face and yet he hesitated in saying them. Shit he could be a coward sometimes.

"I didn't mind," he said at last.

"What?" She raised her eyes to his as he took two more steps towards her.

"I said that I didn't mind. You're allowed to call me." He took a breath. "I'm just embarrassed to admit that I was glad to hear your voice, and I'm more embarrassed by the fact that I proceeded to destroy my cynical, bitter and wise-assed image."

The expression on Cameron's face lightened and she almost smiled before remembering that it made him uncomfortable. "I think 'destroy' may be going too far. Don't worry. I still think you're bitter and miserable."

"Good. Then everything's hunky-dory." He took the final step forward and then he was bending forward and offering her his left arm to lean on as she stood up.

"Thank you," she murmured and her eyes told him that it was for more than the helping hand.

"You're welcome," he replied.

Her hand was still on his arm, and she pulled on it gently until his face was level with hers and she could place a soft kiss on his cheek. She leaned in further until her lips were beside his ear. "You play beautifully."

House quickly stood back up and cleared his throat. "Right. We'd better get going or we won't have time for breakfast," was all he said, but Cameron could see a surprisingly pleased look in his clear blue eyes.

They drove to a small 50's era diner not far from the police station, and then House watched Cameron spend forty minutes pushing scrambled eggs and toast around on her plate. He considered harassing her into eating but he knew it wouldn't be worth the effort and frankly he didn't have much of an appetite himself.

He just wanted to see the fucking piece of shit who had dared to pull a gun on Cameron. There would probably be glass in between them, but he was pretty sure his cane could take care of that. He glanced over at Cameron again and signaled to their waitress.

"You about done over there?"

Cameron looked up, blinking back to the present. "What? Oh. Yeah. I'm not very hungry. Sorry."

"It's all right." The waitress approached and he handed her his credit card without looking at the bill. "This is going to be quick. Just in and out. You point to the bastard and then we can get the hell out."

His words didn't seem to be reassuring her and she sighed heavily. "I hope you're right. I keep seeing it happen, over and over again and every time I remember something else. Some little detail. Like the fact that I was staring at the moon while I was on the ground, and now I can hear him shouting at me just when the bullet hits."

House was gripping his water glass so hard, it was a miracle it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces. "Maybe it's good to remember. Aren't you supposed to be able to put it behind yourself after that?" he forced the words out as his jaw clenched.

Suddenly pinned by her solemn eyes, he couldn't look away. "I don't care if it's what I'm supposed to do. I don't want to remember anymore. And if I ever do want to remember, all I have to do is look in a mirror."

He didn't know what to say to that, but she didn't give him a chance anyway. She quickly stood up and excused herself to the washroom and he sat there numbly and waited for the waitress to return with his card.

The station was less than a five-minute drive and neither of them spoke. It wasn't a situation that snappy banter could help. House parked as close to the entrance as possible and Cameron was out of the car before he'd even cut the engine. She just wanted to get it over with. She was scared and anxious and furious. She never wanted to see her attacker again, but she wanted him to rot in the ninth circle of hell. If picking him out of a lineup could make that happen, then she'd do it.

House had caught up to her by the time she reached the front door, and he even opened it for her. They passed into the brightly-lit lobby and were directed back through another set of doors to the violent crimes division. That room was brightly lit too, and everything looked much cleaner and much less depressing than the average cop show police station.

"Who are you supposed to talk to?" House asked quietly, but Cameron didn't have time to answer before one of the detectives was in front of them, introducing himself.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm Detective Hughes. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday." He turned to House. "And you're Dr. House. I recognize you from the paper."

House put on a snarky grin. "Ooh, I'm a celebrity."

Detective Hughes didn't know quite how to take that, so he didn't bother replying and instead led them both over to his desk and pulled an extra chair over for House to sit in.

"I know you gave a statement at the hospital, so I just have a few questions for you."

House watched out of the corner of his eye as Cameron visibly stiffened.

"Have you remembered anything beyond what you already told the police? Did he do or say anything else?"

She heard his shouted epithets ringing in her ears, but they weren't really pertinent. They wouldn't make or break a criminal case. She shook her head and kept her lips pressed together to keep her chin from shaking.

Det. Hughes nodded. "Okay then. I'll just give you a rundown of what's going to happen now. The ADA is going to be here in a minute and we're going to take you in for the lineup."

"I know how it goes," Cameron told him. "He can't see me, but I can see him."

"Right. Just point him out and you'll be on your way."

Cameron closed her eyes for only a brief moment but it was a moment too long. Long enough to feel chill night air around her, and remember wishing that she hadn't tossed her jacket in the back seat. His breath was at her ear again, but this time he was talking. _'Don't turn around, bitch.'_ His hands on her arms hurt, and she was struggling free and spinning around. This time she saw him pull the gun from his waistband as she turned but there still wasn't time to scream before the flash. She saw his face, caught in a paroxysm of rage, shouting at her. _'You goddamned fucking bitch!_' She felt all the air forced from her lungs and her blood, first warm, then cooling and sticky, draining away, leaving her empty. She opened her eyes but she could still feel the blood rushing from her face while her heart pounded out sixteenth notes. She was not going to break. Not here. Not with everyone watching.

Cameron forced herself to keep breathing but she couldn't make herself maintain eye contact with the detective. Her hands balled into fists in her lap and she dropped her gaze to stare at them. That was when she saw that House had placed his hand on the edge of her seat; not actually touching her, but there. A sturdy, comforting presence. She snapped her head up to look at him and found that he was staring at her and his eyes weren't filled with gushing sympathy or coddling over-protection but with strength, support and righteous anger on her behalf.

She didn't notice that Det. Hughes was looking strangely at them both but she heard him say, "Are you all right, Dr. Cameron?"

She set her jaw and her chin rose almost defiantly. "I'm ready whenever you are."


	10. Chapter 10

_I can't get over the fabulous feedback you have all given me! I think I was grinning like an idiot while reading some of the latest! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!_

_NOTE: I just changed a bit of the ending of this chapter… in my head Cameron was strong but it wasn't coming across that way…_

Chapter 10

Det. Hughes gave a brusque nod and stood up. "I'll call down and make sure everything is set. Then we'll just have to wait for the attorneys." He stepped away from the desk and Cameron watched him go until he was out of sight around a corner.

"Let's hope the bastard doesn't have a tragic accident walking up the stairs," House muttered.

Cameron glanced over at him. "That would solve some problems," she said quietly.

"You doing all right?" He knew that she'd just had some sort of flashback and was grateful that it hadn't been as bad as the one at her apartment.

"I'll be better when this is over," and although she was referring specifically to the lineup they both knew that 'this' covered a lot more than that, and neither one was sure how long it would take before it was over, or if it ever really could be.

They were saved from further conversation by the reappearance of Det. Hughes, along with a somewhat short, but very powerful looking man whom they assumed to be the ADA assigned to the case. They were correct, and after another round of introductions ADA Paul Atherton told them that the suspect was being brought up and they were ready to proceed.

Cameron felt a sudden wave of dread pass over her body and her skin felt electrified from head to toe. She stood up with some effort and hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself by immediately toppling over. Next to her, House pushed himself up with the aid of his cane, and one hand instinctively hovered at the base of Cameron's spine. She didn't even know it was there, but he was ready to catch her if she fell.

"Actually, Dr. House, you can just wait here at my desk while we take Dr. Cameron in."

"What? I'm going in with her." House's eyes had hardened to stones and his voice made it clear that he didn't consider the matter up for debate.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't permitted." Atherton was sympathetic, but he wasn't about to let a technicality interfere with his case. "Only the victim or witness is allowed in to the line-up."

"Well what kind of fucked up--" House was cut off by Cameron turning pleading eyes towards him.

"It's okay," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "Just let me do this and get it over with."

House was ready to continue his protest but the look on her face silenced him. The last thing she needed at the moment was more stress and disruption. "Fine." He turned to the other two men. "I'll be a good little boy and wait right here." He turned back to Cameron and looked her right in the eyes. "Right here," he repeated, dropping the snide tone and making those two words into a promise.

She tried to give him a tight-lipped grin, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. She had to settle for the tiniest nod of her head before moving away from his side and following the men who were going to lead her to the man who had tried to kill her. House remained standing as he watched her go, looking remarkably small even in comparison to the ADA. He didn't take his eyes from her until she passed through a door which was then shut tightly behind her.

Hand tightening on his cane, he kept his eyes on that door even as he lowered himself back to his chair. He felt completely impotent, with a furious anger churning in his stomach and unable to escape. He set his cane between his legs and grasped it with both hands. So much for making short work of the glass barrier and beating the son of a bitch to death.

* * *

The door closed with a metallic echo and a chill ran up Cameron's spine sending a violent tremor through her body. Damn, she hadn't realized how much she'd been depending on House's presence beside her. No he wasn't draping his arm around her shoulders or even holding her hand, but he was There. Quietly, steadily, comfortingly, There. She squared her jaw and tried to center herself. She was a strong, independent woman… a doctor, for crying out loud… she could do this without anyone's help. She moved to the center of the narrow room and violently pinched her own leg to distract it from its shaking.

The room was dimly lit, and through the half-glass wall in front of her she could see the stark white room on the other side, black lines on the far wall to measure height, a single door on the right hand side. A noise from behind her almost threatened to undo her, but she clenched and unclenched her hands and watched another man, thin and tall, enter the room. The three men were talking in low voices but she wasn't paying attention. She had her eyes fixed on the far wall again, reading the numbers next to the lines and then counting them.

Detective Hughes moved to her side and spoke to her, his voice low and tempered to calm her. "They'll be coming in now, and you just have to take your time, look at them all and tell us which one shot you, okay?"

She nodded, not trusting words at the moment. _'Tell us which one shot you…'_ So easily spoken, as if being shot were an every day occurrence. The absurdity of such a phrase being directed at her nearly forced a burst of hysterical laughter from her chest.

Det. Hughes stepped away from her again and pressed the button for an intercom set into the wall. "Send 'em in."

Again, Cameron kept her eyes focused on the back wall as the door into the other room opened and a line of men shuffled in. They were all dressed in jeans and black leather jackets, just as she'd described, and now her eyes were focused on their feet. She didn't want to look up. She knew if she looked up she'd see him. See his face in the bright light, not half-hidden in the dark. She'd see him straight on, agonizingly close, and not just for a terrifying split-second. She didn't want that face burned into her memory and she stifled an inarticulate cry when she realized that it already was.

"Do you see him in there?" A calm voice at her ear.

She looked up; past shoes and knees and belt-buckles and chests. He was there. He looked almost bored, with a sneer on a face that might have been handsome if it hadn't belonged to the man who had almost killed her. Her heart raced and she had to keep convincing herself that he couldn't see her.

"Number five," she said it without hesitation.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Cameron turned to face him and if her words hadn't been strong enough, the look on her face was. "It's number five."

The detective looked over at the two lawyers and nodded, then hit the button for the intercom again. "Okay, you can take them down."

The door opened and the men filed out again while Cameron watched, her eyes now pinned to the man she now knew only as Number Five. When they were gone she turned to the detective and the ADA as her would-be killer's attorney left the room. "What now?"

"Now he's arraigned and a court date is set. You'll be asked to testify at the trial but it probably won't be for at least two to three months," Atherton told her. "He already has a record. Getting him held without bail won't be a problem."

The idea that he could make bail and be out walking the streets hadn't even occurred to her so the attorney's words came as both a shock and a relief.

"I just need you to sign a few papers at my desk and then you can leave," Det. Hughes said, his voice still pitched to make her feel more at ease. He reached behind her back and Cameron allowed herself to be led out of the room.

House's eyes hadn't left the door since the moment Cameron disappeared behind it. Each time it opened he tensed, in preparation for seeing her again. How the hell long did these things take? It felt like she'd been in there for an hour but it had been closer to ten minutes. The door opened once more, and this time Cameron reappeared, Det. Hughes right behind her, hand solicitously placed on her arm. House had the insane urge to break that hand. His eyes scanned up and down Cameron's body. She looked pale and drawn, but otherwise fine. He didn't notice the slight tremor in her hand until she was closer.

He didn't know if he was supposed to say something, or not. What was there to say? Did you have a good time pointing out your attacker? She looked at him with something that might have been relief, but didn't speak, and he remained silent as well.

Paperwork was quickly signed, hands shaken, thanks given and then House was opening the door for her again and they were stepping out into a beautiful spring day.

"So." He glanced at her as they walked to the car. "Back to your place for game shows and soaps? We can make bets on who's going to win 'The Price is Right'."

Cameron swallowed hard and took several deep breaths before answering, "Actually, I think I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Alone? I don't think that's-"

"Please." She cut him off for the second time in one day.

He unlocked the car and opened her door for her. "Fine," he said as he slammed it shut an instant after she was inside.

Her apartment was almost fifteen minutes away and they spent the ride in silence once again. House was concentrating on not saying something bitter and mean to cover the fact that he was actually hurt. He channeled his feelings into his driving instead of his words, cutting people off and speeding far above the limit. He raced down her street and almost hit the curb when he turned into her driveway. He had a sarcastic goodbye on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it the instant he turned and looked at her.

Every muscle in her body seemed to be focused on holding her upright in the seat beside him, and her eyes were staring straight ahead at nothing. Her hands were clenched around the edge of the seat and he was fairly certain that her nails were gouging the leather. She hadn't looked quite so pale since the night of her surgery.

An uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling of guilt twisted House's gut. Damn, he could be a bastard sometimes. Here she was barely holding herself together and he'd had the audacity to get pissed at her. He reached out and laid a hand on her knee, causing her to look up at him sharply.

"I'll call you later."

She nodded and put her hand over his, squeezing it slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Pain made her slow as she got out of the car, and walked to her front door, but House didn't take her eyes off her until she was safely inside. Then he threw the car into gear and sped out of the drive way and down the street twice as fast as before. His hand twitched on the wheel and all he could think about was how much he regretted the fact that he hadn't had a chance to kill the man who was currently sitting safe in jail.

* * *

House drove around for almost an hour before ending up at the hospital. It was either the hospital or home and as usual the hospital won out. No one was around when he entered his department and he was extremely grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk. He limped down the hall to his office, went inside and closed the door and the blinds. If he couldn't watch game shows and soaps with Cameron then he'd just have to watch them alone. He slumped down in his chair and popped two vicodin before turning on the t.v. and attempting to turn off his mind.

Two hours later and he was still sitting there, slightly more slumped and definitely more bleary-eyed. He heard footsteps outside the office and willed them to keep walking. No such luck.

Wilson was almost past House's office when the fact that the blinds were closed registered in his brain. He halted, took two steps backward and listened. Yes, the television was definitely on. He opened the door without bothering to knock.

"House?"

"No. I'm just a figment of your imagination. Close the door on your way out," House replied, knowing full well that Wilson was going to ignore him. He did.

"I thought you were taking Cameron to the police station," he said as he walked over and sat down on the comfortable lounge chair across from House's desk and swung his feet up on the footstool.

"Been there, done that," House didn't bother looking up from the television.

Wilson's eyebrows drew together as a perplexed expression settled over his features. "All right, I'll bite," he said after a moment's pause, "What happened? Did you see the bastard? And why are you sitting here watching television with the blinds closed instead of over at her place? Don't tell me she's sick of you already." He was only teasing with that last remark, but the glare House directed at him made him regret it.

"I didn't see the fucker. Apparently I need to watch more cop shows. They don't just let random brilliant doctors in o the special rooms down at HQ," House made his words sound like any other sarcastic jibe, but the true anger was just below the surface and Wilson was well-adept at hearing it.

"But she ID'ed him, right?"

"Yeah, she was a real trooper," and again the snideness was there but this time Wilson wasn't sure if it was mixed with pride or bitterness or both.

"So let me ask again. What are you doing here?"

"She wants to be alone," House answered, separating each word into its own little breath. He dropped his glare from Wilson's face and turned back to the television.

Wilson took a breath, wincing in sympathy for what he knew House was feeling. "Greg, it's not you. She's probably still in shock. She's upset."

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am aware that I am not the center of the universe. Thank you, Dr. Phil."

"If you know that then why are you in here sulking?" Wilson shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking one eyebrow.

"It's been a few days. I was due for a good long sulk," House answered, and then, before Wilson could form another plan of attack, he spun in his chair and slammed both hands down on the top of his desk. "I couldn't fucking DO anything!" he spat out. "I had to sit there like some stupid prick while they took her in to face the goddamned son of a bitch who shot her. He was trying to rape her? Did they include that on the news? Yeah, that was his plan. Rape her and then kill her. And I had to just fucking sit there. I couldn't even go in with her. Not that I could have helped her anyway, since I'm an emotional as well as physical cripple. I saw myself bashing his skull in but I couldn't even fucking hold her hand when she started to lose it. And I wonder why being alone is preferable to being with me. Fuck! Just fuck it all!"

The words spewed forth, accented by the sound of him pounding his hands on the desk, and then his cane against the floor. With his last sentence he hurled the polished wood across the room to land clattering in the corner. He was as out of breath as if he'd just run a marathon and he curled his hands around the arms of his chair.

Wilson, ever the stalwart rock, stood up and slowly went to retrieve the now-battered cane. "Well," he said deliberately, "I'd say it's a good thing you got all that out."

House looked like he was about to launch into another tirade but then his face fell and his shoulders slumped. His eyes were begging for Wilson to give him some kind of relief from feeling like a useless waste of flesh and bone.

"You did what you could, Greg," he said as he walked over and placed the cane on top of the desk. "You're not Sylvester Stallone and this is not some Rambo revenge movie. In real life we don't always get to beat the crap out of the people who deserve it. She doesn't expect that from you."

House was shaking his head, unsatisfied. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Okay, how about this. You saved her life."

That stopped the movement of his head but it didn't quite wipe the look of self-disgust from his face. "I wish that felt like enough."

Wilson shrugged slightly. "Well I can't help you there. Some things you just have to work out for yourself." He sat back down and propped his feet up again. "Are you stopping by her place later?"

"I told her I'd call."

"Well when you talk to her, you might try a little thing we like to call 'sharing our feelings'. Just try not to throw your cane at her."

House put on a snide little smirk. "No, I save that for you," he said, not really feeling better but at least feeling slightly more in control.

He looked down and glanced at his watch. It was just past three. He'd give her one more hour before he called.

* * *

How had her apartment suddenly become so small? Two bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, bath. She'd always found it more than roomy enough, but now as she wandered from one end to the other she felt trapped. Watching television had proven useless; she couldn't stop switching channels. She'd tried reading but hadn't been able to concentrate. The only thing she'd been able to do for more than ten minutes was cry, and an hour of that had left her red-eyed and feeling disgusted with herself. Being alone was making her crazy but she didn't feel like fit company for anyone, especially House.

She bit her lip every time she thought of him, which was often. He'd been mad at her and she knew it. Hell, he'd practically slammed the car door in her face. She knew she shouldn't be taking it personally. He was angry at the whole damn situation. He'd told her she didn't have to be sorry for needing to be alone. That didn't change the fact that she was and it didn't change the fact that he was most assuredly upset. He had every right to be. She'd spent two days getting him to open up, and now she was the one shutting him out.

Tea. Maybe tea would help. She wandered into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on to boil. Nervous energy wouldn't let her stop moving, and she paced back and forth in front of the stove, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her chest hurt like hell but she didn't want to take any more pain medication. She'd already taken two after her crying jag left her in throbbing agony.

Maybe she should just call him. But she didn't know what to say. She wasn't any better. She still couldn't stop the random images from flashing through her mind. She still couldn't shake off the feeling of his hands on her arms. She couldn't stop remembering the instant of hot pain and the cold, hard ground. Damnit, what a wimp she was! Women were attacked every damn day and plenty of them ended up injured far worse than her, and here she was holding herself and crying like a damn baby.

She moved the kettle off the burner and turned the knob for the burner so hard she nearly ripped it off. She wasn't in the mood for tea anymore.

* * *

He'd told her he'd call. He'd never said how far away he'd be when he did. He looked up through the windshield towards her living room windows. He couldn't see any lights on, but it was still early, and the sun hadn't completely set. Her number was on speed dial on his cell phone and he hit the button and waited.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Cameron, it's House."

Silence, and then, "Are you coming over?"

"Do you want me to come over?"

More silence. "Please."

"I'm sitting in your parking lot. I'll be right up."

"The door's unlocked."

House snapped his phone closed and quickly got out of the car and headed for the front door. He hadn't been able to do anything for her earlier, but maybe now he could. The stairs seemed less daunting every time he climbed them. Maybe he was getting used to them, or maybe the destination was making the pain worth it. He was surprised that she'd left the door unlocked. The idea that she'd done it in anticipation of him visiting was one he didn't allow himself to dwell on.

She wasn't in the living room and he closed the door and started down the hallway to her bedroom. The door was ajar and he pushed it the rest of the way open, jaw clenching involuntarily when he saw her sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door, bare feet just touching the floor.

"Cameron?"

She looked up at him, eyes clear and strong looking but apprehensive as she took a breath before saying, "Please get in bed."

He shook his head, certain he had misheard her. "What?"

"You don't even have to get undressed," she continued speaking as if he hadn't asked her to repeat herself. "I know that I said last night that I'm not usually like this, but I guess I lied or I changed or something, because right now I need you to hold me. You held me yesterday even though I didn't ask you to, and I'll never asked you to again, but if you're going to stay, I need your arms around me because I can't talk anymore and I can't stand you looking at me. I'll understand if you can't, but you'll have to leave and let me sort this out on my own. I'm not making any sense, and I know I sound like an idiot-"

House held up his hand. "Shut up," was all he said and he limped to the other side of the bed while Cameron closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing.

He toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, letting it land on the floor. His button-down shirt was next, revealing a black t-shirt underneath. Then he took off his belt, afraid that the buckle would jab into her back, but kept the rest of his clothes on. She had moved under the covers and he looked at the waving curve of her back, shoulder to waist to hip, then flowing down the length of her legs. Her sheets were soft, much softer than his, and he slipped between them feeling awkward and clumsy but not allowing himself to think.

"Is this all right?" he asked, voice low and gravely. He draped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently into the curve of his body.

"Yes. Perfect."

"Good."

Another man would have kissed her, or stroked her skin, or whispered to her while she lay there, eyes staring at the reflection of the sunset in the mirror above her vanity. He didn't do any of those things. He just held her, breathing in time with her breath, and counting her heartbeats until they both fell asleep, long after the sun vanished and the night stole into the room.


	11. Chapter 11

_Apologies for the long wait! I was rather blown away by this week's episode and had to regroup my own creative energy after seeing something so perfectly conceived and executed. Then I came down with conjunctivitis and staring at a computer has been somewhat less than fun!_

_ As usual, thank you for all your encouraging comments and compliments! They totally make my day! I actually have another story I've been working on as well, but it is not rated for this site and I'd rather not be banned. Anyone with interest is welcome to email me about it... please make the subject line something about House fanfic._

Chapter 11

Cameron woke up when the sun was just beginning to send rosy tendrils across the sky. It was the longest she'd slept since the attack, not counting the nights she was in a drugged stupor. At first the feeling of a warm weight pinning her to the bed startled her, but then the memory of the previous night came back to her.

She pressed her eyes closed again and breathed deeply, concentrating on the momentary feeling of security that being in House's embrace provided.

This was what she wanted. After all the pacing and crying and flashes of memory, she wanted his arms around her, his breath in her ear. It wouldn't change anything. She'd still wake up in pain. She'd still be startled by the sound of raccoons in the trash. But she wouldn't be alone, and neither would he. It was corny as hell but they would be stronger together.

The sun rose higher, warm light glinting off the mirror and pooling at their feet. House's voice broke the silence and to Cameron it felt like the breaking of a spell. Now they would have to get up and face the day, something that no longer gave her any joy.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes," was her whispered reply.

"Hungry?"

"No."

"In pain?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm tired of taking pills."

"So am I, but it beats the alternative." House rolled away from her and then groaned as his own pain hit him hard. "Shit," he muttered, throwing back the covers.

Cameron was slightly faster, swinging her legs out of bed, one hand protectively clutching her chest. "I'll get them," she said as she leaned on the bed and walked around it, picking up House's jacket from the floor, a task which proved more painful than she had anticipated.

The pills rattled and she reached into the pocket and retrieved them, then sat down on the bed, looking at House with concern. He had closed his eyes and lines of pain marred his features.

"Is it always this bad in the morning?"

House grimaced. "Who's nursing who, here?" he asked as he snatched the pills from her hand. He swallowed two before looking back at her and feeling a stab of guilt. "Some mornings are worse than others," he said grudgingly.

Cameron's hands clutched at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sure sleeping with me didn't help."

House tilted his head and looked at her, then hesitantly reached out and awkwardly patted her leg. "Actually this is one of the good mornings. I didn't even think about the damn leg until I started moving."

His words made her inexplicably relieved, pleased even, and her hands released their death-grip on the sheets.

"Why don't you take your pills like a good girl and get back in bed while we wait for the miracle of modern medicine to kick in."

"I told you-"

"Right. You're above painkillers. I get it. Tell me, do you like seeing a look of pain on my face? Because I don't enjoy seeing one on yours. So take the damn demerol and get back in bed."

She honestly hadn't considered that he even noticed when she was in pain beyond a purely clinical interest. Now she regretted being so stubborn. She made her way back to her side of the bed and took a painkiller. There was still a little water in the glass on her nightstand and she used that to wash it down.

The sheets were still warm and it felt nice to slide in between them again, especially when she felt the heat from House's body radiating out towards her. They lay there, side by side, shoulders not quite touching, eyes drifting closed.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yes." She turned and glanced at his profile. "Thanks for staying with me."

"It was the least I could do."

Cameron couldn't quite read his tone of voice and she was surprised to hear him say such a thing. She waited for him to say something else, some little jibe, but he remained silent for so long that she thought he had drifted back to sleep. She turned to face the ceiling again and followed the shadows cast by a large tree outside her window.

"I wanted to kill that fucking bastard."

The words were laced with pure hatred and Cameron's stomach turned over as she was thrown back to the police station; it's clean and airy atmosphere covering up the despicable acts that were recorded and combated there. The sheets rustled as she slowly rolled onto her side to face House. He was still on his back, eyes closed, hands at his sides.

The pragmatic response would be to tell him that she didn't think that would solve anything. The brave response would be to tell him that she didn't need him to fight her battles for her. The thoughtful response would be to tell him that she didn't expect him to be her avenger.

"I wish you could have," was what she actually said.

His eyes opened and he moved to face her, pale blue staring into her, through her. She didn't blink.

"I felt like a complete ass sitting there waiting for you. A waste of space and air."

"I was glad you were there."

"There to do what? Honestly, Cameron, I don't know what you get out of having me around. Hell, you should have asked Wilson to take you. At least he would have had his arms around you and let you cry into his shoulder."

"That wasn't what I needed. If I'd cried then I never would have been able to go into that room and see him. And you held me last night. When I asked you to be here for me, you were."

House shook his head but he didn't say anything else. There was only just so much soul-baring he could take at one time, and anyway, Cameron didn't need to know that he'd been so angry he'd nearly taken Wilson out with his cane. He reached out and touched her shoulder where it peeked out from under the sheets.

"You don't need to hear me tell you this, but I was proud of you when you went in there." He shook his head again. "No, that's not it. I wasn't proud of you… I knew all along that you'd never shirk a responsibility no matter how painful. I was proud to know you. That's what I was proud of."

"I didn't do anything really. I was just glad I didn't embarrass myself by falling apart."

"No one would have blamed you."

"I would have blamed me." She closed her eyes slightly, shutting the open window between them and glancing down at the sheets. "I blame myself right now. You always said I was a soft-hearted, naïve little innocent and I guess you were right. I did what I had to do, but that doesn't make me brave or strong. I came back here, threw up and spent half the afternoon crying. How's that for brave?"

He knew he needed to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He just stared at her, shocked at the level of self-loathing he could see in her expression. The hand he had resting on her shoulder moved down to cup her cheek, tilting her face up so that she could see his eyes again and hoped that what she saw there would be enough.

In those few moments Cameron knew that she could tell him everything. She could tell him all that she remembered and how it had made her feel and how it was still making her feel. She could tell him about the flashbacks and the way she'd been afraid to look her attacker in the face. She could tell him everything, but the problem was that she didn't want to. Talking about it was like reliving it and she wasn't ready for that. Just thinking about it was making her throat close up with unexpressed emotion and she blinked rapidly and hoped in vain that he wouldn't notice.

"You know, I think I'm hungry after all."

"Cameron."

"Really," she said quickly. "And you know I have to take my meds with food."

House slowly pulled his hand away from her face. So this was what it felt like every time he deflected one of her well-meaning questions or caring remarks. Definitely not a good feeling. How had she lasted a month working with him, nevermind a year? Wilson was right. She was stronger than she looked. There she lay, obviously feeling weaker than she wanted to be, despite the fact that it had to take a soul with the strength of steel to put up with his abuse day and day out and never strike back. If she didn't want to talk he was the last person who had a right to force her.

"Omelets?" he asked as he prepared to get out of bed.

She shook her head. "No, you don't have to make me anything. I just want some toast and maybe cereal." She was suddenly wondering if she'd even be able to keep that down.

More rustling sheets and the gentle movement of the mattress and she was out of bed again and walking out of the room. House was left lying there staring after her, wondering if maybe he should have said something else after all. The vicodin had done its job and he was able to get up with only minimal difficulty and one muttered curse. He picked up his cane and headed towards the kitchen, not particularly surprised to find her standing by the counter staring at the milk rather than pouring it. He pretended not to notice and stepped around her to put on a pot of coffee.

"I'm sorry."

House turned and looked at the stiff line of Cameron's back. She was still staring down at the milk.

"Stop fucking saying you're sorry," he said sharply. "What do you have to be sorry for? Being attacked? Getting shot? Having trouble dealing with the fact you were almost raped and murdered?"

She appeared to collapse in on herself, shoulders slumping and then trembling.

"Shit." The vein in House's forehead began to throb and he stepped up behind Cameron and put one hand on her shoulder, not ready to see the look in her eyes. "When it comes to keeping everything in, you're talking to the master. You aren't sorry because you think you've done something wrong. You're sorry because you're not meeting some self-imposed expectation of healing. You feel guilty because I'm here and in your ridiculously selfless mind you think that you should be opening up and telling me everything even though you're not ready. Hell, maybe you'll never be ready, or maybe you'll be ready to talk, but not to me. I was a prick yesterday, but that had nothing to do with you. Trust me; if you want to talk, I'll listen, but if you don't, I'm not going to hold it against you."

Her shoulders were still shaking and he couldn't tell if she was crying but he didn't want to see her face. It would only make him want to get in his car, speed down to the police station and commit a justifiable homicide. Cameron seemed to know this, in that innate way she had of knowing so many things about him. There were tears pricking the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, and instead she quietly pulled herself together while his hand moved up and down her back.

"Better?" he asked after she took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Better." She knew better than to add the 'thanks' that was in her head.

"Good. Now eat." He walked back to the coffee machine, leaving her to make prepare her cereal and settle herself at the table. When he brought over the coffee she was almost done eating and the flushed look on her face had begun to fade. He just had to avoid looking directly in her eyes, because they still held the remains of silent tears.

"I know you're still on suspension, but are you going to the hospital today?" Cameron asked, keeping her face slightly averted.

"I suppose so. Why? You need to pass a note to Wilson? Or maybe Chase?"

The familiar sarcastic tone set her at ease in a way that foreign sounding sentiment never could. A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and she rolled her eyes.

"No. No notes. I'm supposed to go back for tests and to have the sutures removed today. It's been ten days." Ten days. It felt like a lifetime and the blink of an eye. How was that possible?

"You know I could pull them for you in the clinic."

"I know, but he wants a full run-down anyway. I may as well let him do it." She couldn't tell him that the last thing she wanted was for him to get yet another look at the damage. Maybe in a few weeks. After the scar had healed more. Maybe then.

House looked at her downcast face and tried to read what she was thinking, but with her eyes turned away it was impossible. "All right," he answered her, "I'll drive you in. See Fraser and then come find me and I'll bring you home. Maybe I'll even stop and let you pick out some stereotypical sappy movie on the way back."

Another shy smile appeared at the casual way he was basically inviting himself back to her apartment for the afternoon… or maybe even the evening. "Maybe I'll surprise you and rent 'TombRaider'.

House smirked and gulped down the last of his coffee. "You can never go wrong with Angelina."

Cameron finished her cereal and House paced the living room while she got dressed and ready to go to the hospital. Then it was her turn to pace when he stopped at his place to change out of his even more rumpled than usual, slept-in clothes. She had only been there once before and hadn't actually seen anything except House in his black shirt, and rumpled hair, smelling faintly of scotch and cigars. She remembered the piano and the leather chair but not much else.

He had stacks of books next to the piano and on every table. Some medical, but most were subjects as varied as the art of ancient China and Stephen Hawkins' 'A Brief History of Time'. She wanted to leaf through his sheet music and study the black and white photographs on the wall, but he was faster than she expected and was soon ushering her out the door.

On the drive to the hospital Cameron struck up a conversation about music and House seemed startled and then pleasantly surprised that she knew the difference between Billie Holiday and Billy Idol. It was a completely normal conversation, and those had been few and far between for them. Between work and bantering they usually weren't at a loss for words, but casual conversation? No, that was something they didn't normally engage in. House tried to remember the last person he'd really talked to besides Wilson. He couldn't think of anyone. A quick glance at Cameron and he saw that she looked relaxed, animated even, in a way she rarely was at the hospital. It was enough to make him relax as well.

She grew quieter as they neared the hospital, and by the time they pulled in the parking garage she was silently looking out the window, fingers toying with the long strap of her pocketbook. House's usual spot was open and he parked and shut off the engine. Neither of them moved.

"Fraser's office is on the second floor over in the other wing. I probably should have parked closer to it," House muttered.

"No, this is fine. There's never any parking over there."

"You'll come to my office when you're done?"

"Yes. Hopefully it won't take long."

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will probably want to see you. I'll let them know you're around."

House finally opened his door and Cameron followed suit. He didn't know why it felt so strange, then recognized, with some degree of annoyance, that it was because he didn't really want Cameron going off on her own. He didn't trust any other doctor to take care of her. He decided to blame those feelings on his own ego rather than a preposterous over-protectiveness towards her.

They walked to the door, side by side, and then parted without saying another word, but House watched her as she made her way down the hall towards the south wing elevators. Even after she was out of sight it took a few seconds for him to head off in the opposite direction and he rolled his eyes at himself, limping along with a particularly forceful use of his cane.

* * *

Cameron stared up at the fluorescent light and tried to avoid flinching as Dr. Fraser removed the surgical staples which had held her incision closed. The tinny sound of them landing on the metal instrument tray seemed to echo in the small exam room.

"What have you been doing, aerobics?" Fraser asked. "Two of these almost pulled out. You're lucky you didn't have to come back in."

She knew he was still annoyed that she had threatened to sign herself out of the hospital. "Dr. House was with me when that happened. It was nothing."

"Mmm-hmm." Fraser sounded unconvinced. He pulled the last one and pushed back from the table. "There. All set. It's actually looking very good."

The idea that a scar could look good was almost enough to make Cameron laugh… or cry. She wasn't sure which. Dr. Fraser helped her sit up and she glanced down at the pink line running from the bottom of her rib cage to the top of her chest. The tiny holes from each staple were still visible, and the whole scar was slightly raised. A smaller scar, to the left of the incision was a paler pink. Strange that the bullet had left less of a mark than the scalpel used to save her life. She felt her stomach roll over and looked away.

"Your EKG and blood gasses all look good," Fraser was speaking to her but looking over her chart at the same time. "You're lucky it was only a .22 caliber. You probably wouldn't be sitting here otherwise. Have you had any more pain from where the bullet nicked that left lower rib? That was another lucky thing. At least we didn't have to deal with an exit wound. You had enough blood-loss without one."

"No. Sore, but not horrible," she replied. She didn't want to be talking about this. Why was he talking to her like a colleague instead of a patient? She didn't want to hear the gory details. She just wanted to be told that she was doing fine and ready to go.

"Well be careful anyway. It's definitely cracked and if you're not careful it could break. Have you had any shortness of breath? Dizziness?"

Cameron thought about standing in the police station looking at man number five. That dizziness hadn't been caused by any medical problem. "No. Really, I've been doing fine."

"Well I'm going to want to see you back in two weeks just to be sure."

She nodded and pulled the flimsy gown tighter covering up the scar she couldn't stand looking at. The fabric was so thin that she could still feel the pronounced ridge beneath her fingertips and she crossed her arms and gripped her waist to try to rid herself of the feeling.

Glancing up from the chat, Dr. Fraser saw Cameron move. "We could probably set you up with someone in plastics," he said, sympathetically.

A slight shake of her head. "We both know it's too early to even think about that."

"Yes, but a consult couldn't hurt."

Now she shrugged in addition to shaking her head again. "Plastic surgery isn't usually the first thing people think about right after having the equivalent of open heart surgery."

"Well most patients who have open heart surgery aren't thirty-one years old."

Cameron pressed her lips together and remained silent. He was right, but she didn't want to admit it.

"Fine. If you change your mind, you know where the office is" Fraser tossed her chart onto the counter. "I'm sure you've heard the rest of the drill already. No full-time work for at least two more weeks. No baths or swimming. No heavy lifting. No driving for another week."

Cameron nodded at each point. Yes, she knew the drill. It was depressing to think about the fact that none of those restrictions, even the one about work, would have any great impact on her. A sudden feeling of nausea rolled over her and then passed as she realized that she still hadn't gotten a bill for her surgery or anything else. Maybe she would stop by Dr. Cuddy's office and see if she could arrange for some sort of payment plan. She brought herself back to the present when she noticed that Dr. Fraser's mouth was still moving.

"Any sharp pains, weakness, or palpitations and you need to get to the ER."

"Right. I'll remember," as if she wouldn't recognize the sudden onset of a heart attack.

Fraser gathered up her chart and his instruments and started to leave the room in order to give her some privacy to change back into her clothes. He paused at the door and looked back at her.

"I heard on the news that they caught the guy?"

An instant of dismay and then, "Yes, day before yesterday," she said, never missing a beat.

"Good. Last thing we need is scum like that wandering the streets. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in two weeks," and then he was gone and Cameron was alone in the cold room wearing a completely inadequate gown and staring at her distorted image in the stainless steel cabinets.

It took a minute for her to comprehend that she wasn't tearing up, she wasn't shaking, and her fingernails weren't digging little half-moons into her palms. She took a deep breath as she reached for her shirt. It was a baby step but she would take what she could get. Maybe she was stronger than she thought after all.


	12. Chapter 12

_The last part was a bit short, so hopefully this one will make up for it. Thank you for your continued support. It always makes me smile to get little comment emails in my inbox!_

Chapter Twelve

The halls were relatively empty and House thought that he'd be able to make it to his office without seeing anyone. His luck ran out as he turned the final corner and almost ran into Dr. Foreman who appeared to be in a bit of a rush for someone who didn't have any patients.

"Whoa, there sonny. Where's the fire?"

Foreman took a step back and gave House an exasperated look. It wasn't even in the same league as most of House's but he couldn't expect to beat the master.

"Cuddy has us filling in for you down in the clinic and there's a busload of food-poisoned football players coming in."

"Oooh, lucky you! Damn this suspension, that's just the kind of challenge I like." House could barely keep the smug smile off his face.

Foreman ignored the needling and tempered his own attitude with concern. "I heard that they caught the son of a bitch who shot Cameron. That true?"

House had been about to limp past and make a break for it, but he stopped. "They caught him, yeah. Cameron went down and picked him out of a lineup yesterday."

One eyebrow rose. "Cameron went or you took her?" He knew he was treading on thin ice.

Drawing himself up to his full height, House stared Foreman down. "I took her. Are you going to ask me what my intentions are now?"

"No. Not yet anyway."

"Oh, that's good. I'd hate to have to fight you for her," House remarked snidely.

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest. "You may be the most brilliant doctor in the whole damn hospital, but as a human being, she's worth about ten of you. You fuck her over and I will be there to personally hand you your ass."

House regarded the younger doctor seriously. The threat wasn't an idle one made of one part bravado and two parts testosterone. He meant every word he'd said. House couldn't blame him. He could relate. He wanted to kill the man who had hurt Cameron, and Foreman was giving fair warning that he'd do the same.

"Point taken," he said, "but just for the record, I'm not planning to fuck her over although I suppose just plain fucking isn't out of the question eventually."

A distorted grimace appeared on Foreman's face. "Yeah, thanks, you can keep that information to yourself."

Turning serious again, House stared into Foreman's dark eyes. "I plan to. And I expect you to do the same." His voice was pitched dangerously low and Foreman nodded his complicity.

"So, how is she doing?" he asked after their silent agreement was made.

"You can ask her yourself in about an hour. She's up getting the sutures removed and letting Fraser run her through a series of expensive tests."

"She's here? Great. Page me when she comes down. I'll run back up here and let the jocks puke in their helmets for a few minutes."

"Ah, the ever sympathetic Dr. Foreman. Obviously you really need a dose of Dr. Cameron's niceness." He started limping down the hall again. "I'll page you," he said without turning around, "but do me a favor and don't bring Chase with you."

Foreman chuckled. He'd been wondering if Chase was off the hook yet. Apparently the answer was no.

It had been a hellish day, dealing with reporters wanting to know about Edward Vogler's sudden departure from the hospital and reworking budget drafts to subtract one hundred million dollars in funds. On top of that, she'd been trying to keep the clinic running with only two doctors on staff, and deflecting consult requests for House. Damn, she was actually looking forward to his return.

A soft knock at the door and she looked up ready to bite the head off the person standing there. Ten insults and part of her bad mood slipped away when she saw Cameron standing in her doorway looking slightly nervous.

"Dr. Cameron, come in. I didn't know you were in the hospital." She stood up and waved her in, motioning to the small sofa that lined one wall as she walked around her desk to join her.

* * *

Cuddy had never been a buddy-buddy kind of boss, and Cameron had never even worked for her directly so their interaction had been limited to patients and the occasional request to relay a threat to House. However, over the past month a very small soft spot for her had formed. She'd respected Cameron's decision to resign and had suspected the real reason behind it. Even if she hadn't seen a few unguarded looks pass between them, House's worsening mood after her departure had given it away. The attack had caused another shift in her attitude toward the younger doctor. It was impossible not to feel something when a person you'd seen and worked with on almost a daily basis for a year was wheeled past you on the verge of death, but again, seeing House's reaction to it was what really made the difference. She'd watched House spend over five years trying to disprove the phrase 'no man is an island', and seeing him actually show some emotions other than bitterness and anger had been a shock, but a welcome one. For that alone, Cameron had earned her admiration and even a sort of distant affection. She poured two cups of coffee from the pot on her filing cabinet and handed one to Cameron before sitting down across from her. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked, getting the most obvious question out of the way first. It was surprising how unused to friendly conversation she was. Fifteen years scrambling her way through a sea of male colleagues could do that to a woman.

"Sore, but getting better," Cameron replied, feeling slightly out of her element. "I actually came by to talk about my bill here at the hospital. I know that probably sounds pretty stupid, but I haven't gotten one in the mail and I know it has to be large to say the least. I thought that if I talked to you I could make some sort of arrangement with the hospital. I'm not actually working right now, but--"

Cuddy held up her hand and cut her off. "It's taken care of."

Cameron stared at her, brows knit together in confusion. "What? I didn't have any insurance. How can it be taken care of?"

"Actually you did have insurance," Cuddy told her after taking a sip of too-strong coffee. "I added you back into the system the day Vogler left."

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm not an employee."

"I'm well aware of your status at the hospital. I simply continued your coverage for the next sixty days. Consider it a severance package."

Cameron had already worked out in her head exactly how much she would be able to afford per month and still be able to eat, drive, pay her student loans and keep a roof over her head. The knowledge that her plan wasn't needed came as such a relief that she almost laughed. She couldn't keep the pleased smile from spanning her face. "But wait… there are still the deductibles. They have to be at least a thousand by now."

"Also taken care of."

"By what, the Vogler parting gift?" Cameron said with a grin that could almost be called a smirk.

For a second, Cuddy considered keeping the truth to herself, but she changed her mind a moment later. House was a closed-off, sentiment-free bastard most of the time. Cameron deserved to know when he was actually being nice to her, especially if the rumors down in the diagnostics department were true.

"House," was all she said.

"Dr. House paid them?" Cameron's stomach did that rather annoying flutter and she felt a pleasant blush creeping up her neck.

"He was going to pay the whole bill, on his American Express, no less, and after I finagled you back into the system he insisted on paying everything that wasn't covered."

Cameron leaned back, a bit astonished, but feeling a sense of peaceful happiness settle in her chest. She looked across at Cuddy and tilted her head to one side. "He wouldn't want you telling me this," she said.

"You're right. He probably wouldn't. Then again, he never swore me to secrecy either," Cuddy could smirk with the best of them. She put her coffee down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Allison, I've known him for a long time. He's always been a cynical, egotistical pain in the ass, but he's a great doctor. I have no idea what is or isn't going on between you two, and since you don't even work here anymore, it really isn't any of my business. Even though he's a pain in the ass, for some screwed up reason I still think of him as a friend and I wouldn't mind seeing him a little more content." She paused and sat up straight again. "Let's just say I haven't seen him tossing his credit card around for any other women, and I'm telling you this because I know that dragging his feelings out of him is going to be like pulling teeth for you, so good luck."

Cameron could suddenly hear Chopin's Nocturne in the back of her mind, but that bit of sentimentality was something she was going to treasure and keep to herself. "Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. For everything. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. If you can keep him on an even keel that only makes my job easier. Now you'd better get out of here before he starts searching the hospital for you."

Another little smile. "I'm not sure he'd go to that much effort, but I did tell him I'd meet him in his office."

"Good. Try to keep him out of trouble until his suspension's up. And you know, I hear there's an opening down in his department. Sounds like that could be a good fit for you if you're still looking."

Cameron put her empty cup on the coffee table and stood up. "I don't know if I'm ready for that," she said honestly, "but I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

He looked up before she even came into view and he wasn't sure if it was coincidence, or the sound of her footsteps, or that he'd had some kind of 'Cameron detector' installed in his brain without his knowledge. He couldn't remember being that conscious of another person's presence since the age of eighteen when he'd rushed to hide porn under his mattress when his mother walked by the room. And it hadn't even been the good porn. 

His blinds were open for a change and he watched her walk down the hall, her stride slower than he was used to, her clothes hanging loosely on her frame. His critical eye noted every change, but he also noted two things that had gone back to normal. She didn't have her arms wrapped around herself as protection, and her eyes were looking straight ahead, clear and purposeful instead of focused on the ground. He saw it all in the five steps it took for her to walk the length of his glass-walled office to the open door.

"Fraser done poking and prodding you?" He asked as she walked into the office.

One of her shy little grins appeared, just small enough that House wasn't forced to look away. He couldn't know that it was caused more by her conversation with Dr. Cuddy than Dr. Fraser.

"He wants to see me again in two weeks, but for now I'm good to go."

That was just what House had been expecting, but hearing the words still caused a surprising amount of relief. "Good. That's good." He found himself nodding because the words "Thank God" would sound ridiculously over dramatic despite the fact that he was thinking them.

"I stopped by the lab and Foreman and Chase weren't there, and they aren't here either. Do they have a patient?"

"Cuddy has them working down in the clinic. I told Foreman I'd page him when you got back."

"Oh, I can just head down there," she replied, but she hesitated when she should have turned to walk out.

On the walk to his office she'd been having a little argument with herself over whether or not to tell him that she knew about what he'd done for her. He'd been less than receptive the last time she'd thanked him for something like that, but that didn't change the deep need she felt to show her gratitude. But was that just a selfish need on her part? Or maybe things had changed since then. Maybe now he would be more open to hearing her.

"Something wrong?"

His words made her decision for her. "No. I…" she hesitated once more before continuing on in a rush, "I stopped by Dr. Cuddy's office on the way here. I wanted to work out how to pay for everything, but she said it was already taken care of."

House feigned disinterest. "What? Ah, right. She told me she was extending your insurance."

Cameron took a step closer to his desk as she looked into his eyes. "Yes, and she told me you paid the rest."

It was easy to break her doe-eyed gaze by pushing back from his desk and standing up, exhibiting a sudden desire to get a folder from the other office. "I did," he said bluntly, never one to mince words when it came to cold, hard facts.

"I know you're not big on being thanked, but I really appreciate it. I figured I'd be living on a pretty strict budget for a while. You really didn't have to do that, and I know you probably didn't even want me to know, but now I do, so…" She was starting to ramble as she followed him through the door into the office that had once been hers.

This was wrong. Completely wrong. House turned away from the shelves and limped back across the room to stand a scant foot in front of her. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him with a questioning look on her face.

"You've got to stop this," he said and his tone was just a hair's breadth away from anger.

Cameron was completely taken aback. Of all the reactions she'd pictured, this one hadn't even been on the distant horizon. "What? What's wrong?"

"This… this little play we're acting out right now, with you the timid ingenue and me the gruff professor you're afraid will tear you apart. If that scenario is the basis for our relationship, or whatever the hell it is we're getting ourselves into, then it's never going to work."

Cameron blinked a few times and bit her lower lip, which was, she supposed, exactly what he didn't want her to do. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I can't help it… I get flustered around you sometimes. I'm afraid of how you'll react."

A short grunt from House and he took a half-step backwards, considering her words. "Word on the street is that I'm a real bastard, so you were probably right to be afraid, but do you really plan on keeping it up forever? You've put me in my place more than once this week. What changed when you walked in this office?"

"Force of habit?" She bit the bullet and decided to put the truth out in front of him. "I'm still not used to you being nice to me… not like that, and when you are, you try to brush it aside like it's nothing, or pretend it never happened. You did something that I don't think a single one of my pathetically small number of friends would do for me, so I wanted to thank you for it, and I didn't know how you'd take it. If you'll remember, you didn't really care for my gratitude earlier."

"Yeah, well that was different." It bothered him more than he was going to say that she was actually admitting that she didn't expect niceness from him. "For one thing, you worked for me then, and as your boss it was my job to do what I could to keep you employed."

"And now?"

Shit. His eyes wandered around the room, looking at anything but her face. How was he supposed to answer that without sounding like a bad romance novel? "Now you're a woman and I'm a man." Shit. "A man who-" He looked down suddenly as Cameron wrapped her arms loosely around his waist.

"Shut up," she said quietly. "I get it."

He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Good." He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "And about the money? You're welcome."

They stood like that quite comfortably for nearly two minutes before Cameron muttered, "I suppose that people in glass offices shouldn't hug."

"Afraid of ruining your reputation? Because being seen with you can only improve mine," House replied.

Cameron tilted her head back and waited for him to look down at her. "Definitely not afraid," she said firmly. "But I'm surprised you aren't."

A little smirk. "Oh, I'm full of surprises."

Of that she was quite certain. She was also certain that despite his words to the contrary, he wouldn't be happy if rumors about them began to circulate. Making jokes was second only to making insults in his line of defensive maneuvers. She stepped out of his embrace but held his gaze.

"I should go down to the clinic."

"Ah yes, the boys will be falling over themselves to get you a cup of coffee and a place to sit."

She rolled her eyes and gave a little laugh. "I think you overestimate their chivalry."

"I think you underestimate your womanly charms."

He turned away quickly as if to avoid the tender look he knew she would give him, but it floated across her face anyway, along with a faint blush.

"It's almost lunchtime. I could probably get one of them to drive me home if you want to stick around here and catch up on paperwork."

"Oh yeah, that's just my favorite thing to do," he replied with mock happiness. "Give me a call when you're ready to go."

"Okay. I'll call you." She paused when she got to the door. "One request."

House had walked back over to his desk. "Yes?"

"You put the top down," she said with a coy little grin.

He lowered himself to his chair and stifled the ludicrous smile that threatened to appear. When was the last time he'd had to fight to keep from smiling? He couldn't remember.

"I think that could be arranged."

Cameron was still grinning as she gave a little nod and walked out of the office and back towards the elevator. House finally let the barest shadow of that smile appear as he watched her go.

* * *

The clinic was even busier than usual, and Cameron let herself fade into the background of bustling nurses and agitated parents and irritated patients. It was hard to believe that she almost missed it despite the frenetic pace and the usually boring cases. The cases in the diagnostics department were challenging and satisfying to solve, but clinic work was fulfilling in its own way. There was something to be said for ending a shift and being able to say that you'd sent twelve people out healthier than they'd arrived. She watched as Foreman came out of an exam room with a burly kid in a football uniform. The kid looked slightly peaked, but Foreman made some sort of joke and gave him a pat on the shoulder and the boy laughed and headed out towards the waiting room. 

Foreman was looking around for a nurse when he spotted Cameron standing against the wall observing everything. His face broke into a grin and she gave a little wave and walked towards him, meeting up near the nurses' station.

"Hey there, Cam! House said he was gonna page me when you got done with your appointment. Damn, you look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you." He caught himself and quickly added, "No offense!"

She grinned. "None taken. I did look like something a not very discriminating cat would drag in."

He laughed. "C'mon and sit down," he said as he led her to a quieter part of the hallway with some chairs lined against the wall. "Chase is around here somewhere. I'll find him and we can take a break and get some coffee."

Cameron allowed herself to be led to the chairs and laughed inwardly. House had them so pegged. "Looks like it's pretty busy around here. You sure you have the time?"

"What, this? Trust me, they can wait. And frankly if we disappear for a few minutes maybe they'll finish throwing up and I won't have to switch lab coats again." He waited until she was sitting and then gave her shoulder a squeeze, saying, "Sit tight," before heading back towards the waiting room.

He was back within five minutes, with Chase right behind him, and Cameron stood up as they came into view. They were both smiling and looked pleased to see her and she had to admit that it felt nice to be missed.

"Allison, I was going to call you. How are you doing? Dr. Wilson told us that they caught the-"

"They did," Cameron said, cutting Chase off before he could finish his sentence. It was a subject she really didn't want to talk about.

Chase might have pressed the point, but Foreman read her body language and broke the momentary silence with, "Quick, let's get to the elevator before one of the nurses spots us."

A few minutes later and they were seated out on the patio, with coffee in their hands and the warm sun filtering through the potted trees. Another silence had fallen and they looked at each other, both men with questions on their minds, and Cameron half-dreading what they might ask.

"Now that Vogler's gone, there's a rumor that you might be coming back," Foreman was the one to break the silence again.

Cameron took a sip of coffee while she formed an answer in her head. It was still too hot, and burned her tongue. "I'm glad he's out of your hair, but I'm not really sure what I'm going to do. I'm not supposed to work for another couple of weeks anyway."

"And does your indecision have to do with House?" Chase asked with just a hint of bitterness. "Because that's another rumor that's been going around."

She felt herself blushing, and Foreman glared at the other doctor.

"Chase, what the fuck?" Foreman snapped.

"Hey, I'm just asking! He's the one who's been taking care of you, isn't he? Because suspension or not, he'd be all over the hospital if he didn't have someplace else he'd rather be."

Foreman was still glaring at him, and Cameron wasn't sure what her expression looked like but she guessed it was something between wariness and shame despite the fact that she didn't think she had anything to be ashamed about.

"Yes, he's been checking in on me. I didn't want to spend the money on a visiting nurse and since he's been off he decided to take the job on himself."

"And?"

"Chase, shut up already!"

Cameron felt the shame slipping away, to be replaced by indignation. "And, I don't think the rest is any of your business."

Foreman looked smugly pleased at her answer, and Chase rolled his eyes and leaned back, drinking a mouthful of coffee and wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

"He's just going to take advantage of you. You know that, right?"

"She's a big girl, I guess she can take care of herself," Foreman snapped, surprised to find himself actually defending whatever was growing between his boss and his friend.

A grateful smile was sent Foreman's way before Cameron turned to Chase and stared him down. "I know what I'm getting myself into, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't treat my life like a soap opera."

"He's twice your age," Chase said incredulously, feeling the need to get in one more jibe.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Actually, he's not, and anyway, you're half my age in maturity, so what's your point?"

Foreman let out a bark of laughter. "She's got you there, man."

Chase rolled his eyes again and took another sip of coffee. Cameron decided to just ignore him. He hadn't always been like this, and maybe he'd go back to his old self eventually, but she didn't have the energy or the inclination to deal with him the way he was now. Foreman launched into the story of Vogler's departure, which she'd heard about only through House's brief mention, and she concentrated on him, letting herself feel a part of the group again. It was something she had missed since her resignation.

When Foreman trailed off in the middle of another story, she looked at him and Chase quizzically, then looked up as a warm hand settled on her shoulder. House was standing there, but his eyes were fixed on the other two doctors.

"The nurses down in the clinic are about to send a search party after you two, and I hear the instructions are to shoot first and ask questions later. Apparently they're tired of dealing with the mob in the waiting room."

"Shit." Foreman looked down at his watch. "I guess our break is over." He stood up and nodded at House before giving Cameron a warm smile. "I'll call you and see how you're doing. Drop by for lunch when you're feeling up to it."

"I will."

"Take care of yourself, Allison," Chase said, not looking at his boss at all.

"Thanks. You too." She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness that things had turned so strange between them.

When they had gone, Cameron reached up and lightly touched House's fingers as she looked up at him again. "You know, I think you just increased production at the rumor mill."

"And yet strangely, I don't give a shit," he smirked, as he reached down to give her a hand up despite the fact that she didn't really need such assistance. "Anyway," he continued as they walked inside, "they've had bets riding for weeks. With any luck Chase now owes Foreman some money."


	13. Chapter 13

_A short chapter, but the next one should follow within two days, and I wanted to get something out after that heartbreaking episode._

_**To Val'istar** (and anyone else who is interested)... Please email me if you'd like to read my other story. I tried emailing you but your address didn't work. Mine is listed in my profile._

_I love that so many people are following this story. It's a real joy to write and I love reading all of your comments. _

Chapter 13

House kept his promise and put the top down in the convertible as soon as he started the engine. Then he watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the stress that had kept Cameron tight as a bowstring while they were in the hospital gradually melted away the further they got from the parking garage. The wind caught her long hair and sent it swirling around her and she even smiled and allowed a small, joyful laugh to bubble up out of her chest.

"Having fun?" House asked, keeping his own grin in check but enjoying her reaction nonetheless.

She turned to him, still smiling. "Yes. I don't think I've been in a convertible since I was in high school, and it was definitely not as cool as this one."

"Yes, well this is a regular chick magnet," House replied drolly. "Or at least that's what Wilson keeps telling me."

Cameron raised one eyebrow and turned to him, her expression mischievous. "Funny, I would have thought he'd call it a pussy wagon," she commented, and then turned back to the road while House stifled his shocked expression and his chuckle.

"Keep that up and I'll drive us right off the road."

She merely grinned and kept her eyes facing forward.

They stopped at the video store to fulfill House's other promise, and Cameron rented not only 'TombRaider' but 'TombRaider2' as well. The rest of the drive home consisted of a debate as to which was the superior film. Cameron called it a draw. House insisted he had won. Neither of them mentioned hospitals or police stations or pain medications, but pizza was discussed and ordered.

Credits rolled on the last movie at just after seven, and House stretched and levered himself off the sofa. He had started out in the chair, but somehow, between pizza and popcorn and bathroom breaks he had ended up next to Cameron with his arm once again draped casually over her shoulder. She missed its warmth when he stood up.

"You should eat something else."

She grimaced. "I'm full of popcorn," she protested.

He let his eyes roam over her body and she felt herself getting uncomfortably warm under his gaze. "You're losing weight."

"Surgery will do that to you," she shot back, slightly annoyed.

"So will not eating right."

"You're the one who suggested pizza."

"That was lunch. Now I'm suggesting dinner."

Cameron wanted to laugh. This back and forth bantering could go on all night. "I'm full and I'm not eating anything else," she announced, effectively ending the argument.

House stared at her as if he could change her mind with just his eyes. Normally he could, but not this time. "Fine. Don't come crying to me when you're malnourished."

"Don't worry. I won't. I'll go crying to Dr. Wilson."

There was a gleam of playfulness in her eyes, and on her face, and suddenly House wanted to reach down and pull her up and into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Instead he said, "It's getting late. I should go and give you a chance to rest."

All playfulness left her and she pushed herself off the sofa as House turned his back on her. Step-thump. Step-thump. Step-thump. And he was at the door. She caught up to him and put her hand over his on the doorknob.

"Don't be angry," she said softly. "I was only kidding."

He looked down at her, wondering how she could be so mistaken about his feelings when normally she saw right through him. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

"Trust me. I'm definitely not angry," he said.

That was when she saw the burning light in his eyes and she took in a quick breath. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

A blush was definitely creeping up her neck but for once she didn't mind. "Kiss me," she said, and it wasn't a request.

His brain was telling him not to but his baser instincts won. He separated their hands so that he could run his fingers through her hair, brushing it back until his hand rested at the back of her head. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him and he memorized that look for future reference. Then his mouth was descending and his hand was supporting her head and her eyes were slipping closed on a sigh. Her lips were soft and so yielding and he had to taste them, just once, and his tongue slid out as she opened her mouth to welcome him in.

At some point, one of her hands found its way to his shoulder while the other covered his on the handle of his cane. Her knees were feeling weak and she needed the support as much as he did. The taste of him, the heat and the power and the wonderful feel of his mouth on hers was making her forget all of her earlier self-consciousness. A slight sound, almost but not quite a moan, came from her lips and House took a deep breath and gently pulled away.

He looked down at her, and she looked up at him, and they both caught their breaths and regained their footing.

"I need to go."

She nodded. "You'll call tomorrow?"

His hand trailed down her arm. "I'll come over at noon. I'll bring lunch."

A little smirk. "Make it something healthy. I hear I'm not eating well enough."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied and then he was opening the door and she was standing in the doorway watching him limp down the narrow staircase and out. He didn't look back, but she didn't expect him to.

The rest of the week followed a pleasant routine that was neither discussed nor agreed upon. House would go to the hospital in the morning, putter around, annoy the nurses, harangue Cuddy, Foreman and Chase, chat with Wilson, and then leave the parking garage by no later than noon. The rest of the day belonged to Cameron and even though he would never admit it, he was surprised at how well they fit together.

She had a dry wit that he had only seen the barest edges of at the hospital. Her sly one-liners were usually timed for when he had a mouth full of either food or drink and had to fight to keep from choking or spitting it across the room. She also knew when to be quiet. That was key. Sitting in companionable silence, reading or watching television, or doing crosswords from the enormous book Foreman had sent over, were some of their most pleasant hours.

Evenings were slightly harder. House was never sure if he should stay for dinner or not, but most often he ended up staying. Something about evening and its proximity to night and therefore bed-time, made both of them more keenly aware of one another in a physical way. Inevitably the night would end with a kiss at her door, neither ready for more, but neither capable of telling the other exactly why.

House was surprised when the phone rang on the second night and he heard Cameron's ragged voice on the other end. He had been dozing on his sofa, as usual, and was half-way to the door when she told him that she was all right. She was fine. She had just had a nightmare. She had just needed to hear his voice, and remember, he had told her that it was okay for her to call. He told her that he remembered, and then he played her back to sleep.

* * *

Wilson entered the office and immediately took his place in the easy chair. "So, first day back and already a difficult patient. After two weeks off you must be relieved to jump right in."

House shrugged. "Yeah, nothing like people on the verge of death to really get the ol' blood pumping."

His friend laughed. "Nice try, but I know you. You love this. It's like the thrill of the hunt. Not to mention it gives you a chance to bark orders at whoever happens to get in your way. In fact, it seems like things are just about perfect except…"

"Don't."

Wilson ignored him. "Except for the notable absence of a certain immunologist."

House rolled his eyes and turned away. "You know damn well she isn't cleared to work yet."

"And if she was?"

"If she was, she still wouldn't be working here," House said bluntly.

A slightly confused look and then, "I thought you wanted her to come back."

"I do. She doesn't know if that's what she wants and this is one time badgering her won't work."

Wilson drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh. "But she hasn't taken anything else yet?"

House slowly reached inside his jacket and pulled out three rather battered looking envelopes.

"You stole her mail?" he asked incredulously. "Yeah, that's a good way to start the relationship."

"Borrowed. For an indefinite amount of time." Shit. He'd been counting on Wilson to back him up. He'd felt like crap ever since pulling the letters out of Cameron's mail on the way up her front stairs two nights earlier. The return addresses were prominent doctors at other hospitals. One was from another hospital in the area, but the other two were from Boston.

Wilson stood up and walked to the desk, taking the letters from House. He glanced at them briefly and looked up. "Greg, she must have sent out her CV over a month ago. Before everything happened." He didn't know why, but he had trouble referring to Cameron's attack directly. "You don't think she'd seriously consider moving now, do you?"

No, he didn't. Maybe that was part of the problem. He could fake a weak ego and say he feared losing her, but that wasn't the truth. He knew she wouldn't go anywhere now that they were on the edge, the teetering precipice, of actually turning their newly comfortable, if still strange, relationship into something deeper. She wouldn't leave him now, and that scared the shit out of him. It was all totally up to him. He would have to forcibly push her away if he wanted her out of his life, and the most frightening part of all was that he didn't want that.

House noticed that Wilson was staring at him and settled his eyes on him. "No," he remembered the original question and finally answered it.

"Didn't want her to see what she's missing, then?" Wilson dropped the letters on the desk and grinned as he shook his head. "You really are in deep. Greg House, committing petty larceny for reasons unknown even to him."

A jeering grin appeared on House's face. "Yes, ha ha. Very amusing."

The satisfied smile faded a bit as Wilson retook his seat. "You don't like having this much control over her, do you?" he said, more a statement of fact than an actual question.

"She's her own person. I don't have any control over her," House scoffed, picking up the letters and putting them back into his pocket.

"Right. The fact that you know she won't leave doesn't indicate any attempt at control on your part at all."

"But I'm not keeping her from doing whatever she wants to do."

"You have her letters."

House turned away again. "Fine. I'm controlling and I don't like it."

"There's something else though, isn't there?" Wilson prodded. "I know you. I can tell."

A moment of silence before House spoke again. "If she saw those letters she'd ask my opinion. She'd want me to tell her not to go."

"And you'd tell her to leave."

Damn, Wilson really did know him. He remained silent and turned on his game.

"You know what, though?" Wilson asked rhetorically as he stood up. "She wouldn't go even if you told her to because she knows you now." He chuckled a bit. "That's why you're in trouble."

* * *

Four o'clock and he hadn't talked to her all day. She hadn't called, which didn't surprise him. She only called late at night, and after that first night they never spoke about those calls again. He tried to put the fact that he'd never played the same piece twice, down to coincidence, and not a subtle need to show-off his repertoire.

He flipped his cell-phone open, closed it, then opened it again. Checked his messages. None. Changed the ringtone to 'Paradise by the Dashboard Lights'. Changed the background image to a picture of a red corvette. Finally he pressed her number on the speed dial.

"Hello?"

She sounded like she'd just woken up from a nap. Good. She was supposed to be resting.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Cameron almost laughed. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. I thought it was fairly simple," he said flatly.

She blinked a few times, surprised at his tone. "Umm… nothing. I'm not doing anything. You know that."

Of course he knew it. That was beside the point. "Would you like to go out? I thought dinner would be good… nice."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Does it sound like it?"

"Yes."

"Then you have your answer."

A smile spread across her face. "But we've already been spending almost every evening together. You don't have to be so formal all of a sudden."

"Maybe I want to be. You mentioned dating like normal people. It's been a while but I'm pretty sure this is still how it's done."

She blinked again. "Oh. Okay. Then yes. Yes, I'm free, I mean. I'd love to go out to dinner. With you."

"Good." He relaxed his grip on the phone. Damn, why was he nervous? It was pretty damn obvious that she was a sure thing. "I'm working late tonight so I won't see you until tomorrow. I'll pick you up at seven."

Right. He was working. Apparently that meant that their comfortable, unwritten routine was ending. A small knot of sadness settled in her chest. She was going to miss it.

"Seven?" he repeated.

"I'll be ready."


	14. Chapter 14

_Hello all! Thanks for reading this ridiculously lengthy story. Here is yet another chapter! _

Chapter 14

House woke the next morning feeling slightly grumpy and he realized that it was partly because she hadn't called him. Her calls weren't an every night occurrence, but after not seeing her all day, he had missed hearing her voice before going to sleep. Damn, could he be any more selfish? Here he was wishing she had called when he knew that she only called after a nightmare left her trembling and unable to go back to sleep. If he'd wanted to hear her voice that badly he should have picked up the damn phone himself. Great. Just great. Their date was less than fourteen hours away and he was in an even worse mood than usual. Wilson would tell him it was nerves. So he wouldn't ask for Wilson's opinion.

He swept the sheets back and grabbed for his pills, popping one in his mouth as he got out of bed. His leg was killing him, but lying in bed waiting for the pain to pass wasn't as enjoyable alone. Shower, comb, cologne. He was done in the bathroom in just under fifteen minutes. He spent the next thirty staring into his closet.

In his head he was cursing himself for making seven-thirty reservations. There was no way he'd have time to change after work and he was going to have to wear a suit to the hospital. Maybe this was just a mistake. Maybe he should call back and tell her he'd be bringing over take-out. Cameron had said he didn't have to be so formal.

Of course she said that. She always said whatever she thought would make him more comfortable. He grabbed the dark navy suit and tossed it on the bed. Well for once, he was going to do something for her. He could suffer through feeling slightly out of place for one night.

At least the pants were comfortable. He pulled on a pale blue dress shirt and shoved a tie into the jacket pocket. He could put those on in the office just before he went to pick her up. Now he just had to hope that no one noticed that his shirt was neatly pressed and his pants had a crease you could slice butter on. Maybe he'd actually wear his lab coat for the day.

His lone pair of dress shoes rested at the back of his closet and his curses made their way from his head to his mouth as he bent over to get them, striking his forehead on the overhead rod in the process. They were quickly tossed into his old gym bag, and then the suit jacket was folded carefully and laid on top. With any luck they wouldn't end up smelling of sweaty socks by the end of the day.

One last look around his bedroom and he glanced at himself in the mirror. Hair combed. Shirt buttoned. Stubble still in evidence but lighter than normal. The creases around his eyes didn't seem as noticeable this morning, but there was no mistaking that he was a man quickly approaching middle age if he hadn't already reached it. Face a bit too long. Eyes startlingly blue, but almost too big. Cheeks slightly hollow from years of living more on adrenaline, scotch and vicodin, than food. Was this what Cameron saw when she looked at him? Was this what she wanted?

The muscle in his jaw twitched and he turned away. He didn't have time to stroke his own ego into believing he was worthy. That would take the better part of a week. Probably longer. Cameron wasn't a child and she'd made her wishes abundantly clear. He wasn't going to start questioning them again now.

* * *

A puff of steam followed Cameron out of the bathroom as she wandered across the hall, towel wrapped around her hair, robe wrapped around her body. It felt wonderful to be clean and still damp from the shower. Every day she was able to move a little more freely, and being able to wash and dry her hair with only a few twinges of pain felt like a major milestone. A contented little sigh rose from her chest and she couldn't stop grinning despite the nervous flutter that kept invading her belly.

She slipped into a black lace bra and matching panties, not looking down as she fastened the bra and pulled up the straps. She knew what she'd see and she didn't want to think about it. She wanted to hold onto the feeling of happiness that had settled over her.

The decision to wear her favorite black dress had been made that morning. It was dressy but not stuffy; short skirt, v-neckline, cap sleeves inset with black lace. She'd wear her mother's earrings and let her hair dry with its natural wave. The dress hadn't been worn for a long time, but she found it easily and slipped it over her head. Delicate fingers smoothed the silk skirt and she gave a little twirl and then froze.

Her reflection stared back at her from the oval mirror and she felt like she was watching someone else raise a shaking hand to the scar that started four inches above the neckline of the dress. She couldn't undress fast enough, fumbling with the zipper and then throwing the black silk on the bed as if it burned. Quick steps and she was at the closet, biting her lip as she started flipping through the rest of the clothes. Another rush of motion and she was at her dresser, opening drawers and pulling out anything she could find.

Almost an hour later found her standing in front of her mirror, clad in only her bra and panties, arms hanging limply at her sides. A pile of discarded clothing lay behind her on the bed. Her eyes were burning but she wouldn't let any tears fall. She had to look. This was her body now and she had to look. She ran a finger up the long scar, feeling every uneven bump. Yes, it would fade in time, but how long? Five years? Ten? Even with plastic surgery there would be a long healing period. By the time it was gone, would she even care? She was already thirty. Thirty years old and she couldn't wear a bikini anymore, or any bathing suit at all, for that matter. She couldn't wear a tank-top or a low-cut blouse. She couldn't even wear her favorite dress.

The tears came then and she couldn't stop them even though she was furious with herself. She dug her nails into her palms and collapsed onto the bed, surrounded by the clothes she didn't even want to look at. She wept as she screamed at herself in her mind, calling herself every disparaging name she could think of; selfish, vain, ungrateful, stupid, petty, childish. Yes, she was a stupid, stupid child. What the hell was wrong with her? She was alive and all she could do was cry because she wasn't beautiful anymore. Beautiful. She had never called herself that out loud, but she had always known. She wasn't one of those women who constantly berated themselves just so that others would praise them. People had called her beautiful and she had just thanked them and moved on, never dwelling on it, always feeling prouder of the accomplishments she had worked for than the looks she'd been born with. Beautiful. She wouldn't have to worry about deflecting that compliment anymore.

Her breath came in quiet, desperate gasps, gradually slowing and evening out even as her mind moved on from anger at her unsuspected vanity to disgust at her stupid selfishness. Why couldn't she just be happy that she was still alive? Happy that she wasn't even more injured? Happy that the man she had been quietly pursuing was finally reciprocating her feelings? A long, shuddering breath and she knew that the thought of finally being with House was one of the reasons she was so devastated. She wasn't some high-school girl, and she had never fantasized about them being together, but deep in her heart she knew that she'd had longed-for expectations, no more than wispy thoughts and hazy images, but they were there. And in none of them did she feel the need to hide herself from his gaze.

Was this how he felt about his leg? Did he worry how she would react? No matter what it looked like, she wouldn't care. Why couldn't she make herself believe that his reaction to her would be the same? He, more than anyone, would be able to understand how it felt to be scarred. The answer prodded at the corners of her mind. She had always known he was damaged and she had fallen for him anyway. She had no idea if his feelings were based at least in part on a perfect, unblemished version of herself. A self that no longer existed.

But he had seen her scar. Hell, he had seen everything, and he was still with her, caring for her, spending time with her, nervously asking her out on a date. Soft fingertips traced the dark pink line again. She knew in that moment that it wasn't just a fear of rejection that made her stomach roil at the though of him seeing her. It was also the little part of her heart that had envisioned being beautiful. For him.

Cameron wiped a hand across her eyes and turned to look at the clock. She had two hours before House was going to pick her up. She closed her eyes slowly. Maybe she should just cancel. She could say she wasn't feeling well. No. That would just make him come over faster, and besides, it wouldn't be fair to him. He was trying so hard, and she knew he was only doing it for her.

Sitting up, she braced her hands against the bed and gazed towards the closet. There had to be something in there that would cover her chest completely and still look acceptable. She pushed herself to her feet and walked the few steps to the corner, then slowly started looking again. Two hours. Two hours to find something and then make herself look like she hadn't spent twenty minutes crying.

* * *

Six-twenty. Thank God their patient was finally starting to show some improvement. He had just enough time to make himself look presentable before heading to Cameron's apartment. Foreman and Chase were down in the lab running last minute blood tests so they wouldn't even see him leave. They'd both given him a few strange looks throughout the day. Foreman's had been more questioning while Chase's had been decidedly petulant. If Chase didn't start growing up he was going to find himself on the receiving end of a well aimed cane.

He pulled his bag out from under his desk and unzipped it; taking out the jacket, he draped it over his chair and dropped the shoes onto the floor. The jacket fit well and he moved his arms back and forth, getting used to the feel. He was sitting in his chair tying his shoelaces when Wilson walked in. Damn.

"Hey, I thought you might be interested in getting a drink," he asked, then did a slight double-take. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

"What's wrong? Did you think you had the market cornered on the GQ look," House quipped.

Wilson laughed. "You. In a suit. Should I be looking for a pod somewhere, because I think I'm in the middle of 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'."

"You really should take your show on the road," House said as he pulled the tie out of his pocket and started threading it under his collar.

"Sorry. Sorry," Wilson replied, with a grin still firmly etched on his face. "I take it that you and Cameron are going out someplace?"

"Got it in one, Watson."

"Well you do look awfully pretty."

House glared at him and continued to work on his tie.

"So where are you taking her?"

"Why, you looking to double date with the chemo nurse?"

"Come on, Greg."

Around the tree, down the hole, House finished tying his tie and leaned back in his chair. "Lahier's," House replied, naming one of the most expensive restaurants in Princeton. "Then a walk down by the river and over to Giamano's for the late show. They have a jazz band playing there."

Wilson's eyes grew larger as he listened to House's plans. He let out a little chuckle, more at the rather resigned look on House's face than at the clearly well-thought out itinerary. "I know there's a difference in your ages, but you don't have to make it so blatantly obvious by using every dating tip from a 1950's issue of Playboy. What next? Flowers and candy? Kind of lame, don't you think? Of course we already know she likes lame," he said with a friendly little wink.

"It's supposed to be a nice date. You know. The opposite of what you do with your little paramours," House retorted, not mentioning that he had been pondering where the closest florist was.

The teasing expression on Wilson's face softened to one of sincere happiness. "I know," he said as he leaned across the desk and straightened House's tie. "She'll love it."

House looked slightly doubtful. "You think?"

"Greg, I think you could take her to the local Burger King and she'd be thrilled."

A little smirk. "Yeah, I thought about going there, but I don't want to overwhelm her on the first date."

* * *

It was quarter to seven when Cameron stepped out of her apartment and started down the stairs. There was no sense making him walk all the way up to her door when she could easily wait on the front porch. She had also been going crazy pacing her living room and thought that the fresh air would help to calm her nerves.

The dress she had finally settled on was a pale blue-grey with fine silver filaments woven into the cloth, ensuring that it would shimmer in sun or candlelight. It was sleeveless, with a high, barely scooped neckline but she still kept touching her silk-covered chest to assure herself that nothing showed. The skirt on this dress was longer, less playful, flowing straight to her ankles with a slit running back up to her knee. She had only worn it once before, and she felt much dressier than she had planned. Her stomach rolled and she hoped that he wouldn't think she was overdressed. She knew that if he teased her, even in a lighthearted way, there wouldn't be enough resolve in the world to keep her from bursting into tears.

A solitary wicker chair stood in the corner of the porch, and she dusted a stray leaf off the seat and sat down, clasping her hands in her lap on top of her handbag. Almost immediately her fingers started picking at the silver trim on the bag. This wasn't working. She had to calm down and forget everything that had flooded her mind that afternoon. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

The evening air was still warm and a lilting breeze played with the ends of her hair, brushing it back and forth over her shoulders and back. Another breath. He was expecting her to be happy, not moody, and she definitely didn't want to answer any questions that a sad expression might inspire. One more breath and she pulled her earlier feelings of hope back around her like a comforting cloak. She wasn't going to let her own insecurities ruin this night. She planned on being able to look back on it and smile. After another minute of quiet the heaviness in her chest began to lift. Her one remaining fear was that House would want to take their relationship to a more physical level but realistically, she knew those fears were groundless. Technically this was just their first date, and he would never push her.

A very distinctive roaring sound suddenly filled her ears and she opened her eyes in time to see the red corvette pulling into the driveway. The fluttering feeling was back, but this time she didn't mind it. Rising to her feet, she watched as he got out of the car, and even from a distance their eyes met and held for a timeless moment.

When House saw her stand up he was shocked to feel his heart suddenly speed up, and he got out of the car praying that he didn't look like the broken-down cripple he suddenly felt like. Automatically, his eyes sought out hers, and the tender expression on her face instantly scattered his personal doubts. He swallowed hard, and walked down the path, keeping his eyes trained on her slender form. As he drew nearer his eyes roamed over her body, taking in everything about her from her low, delicate shoes to her enormous eyes which had never looked bluer.

Standing on the top step, her face was level with his and he simply had to lean forward and kiss her. His lips were soft against the corner of her mouth, not fully kissing her because he knew if he did they would definitely miss their dinner reservations. When the kiss ended he rested his cheek against hers, letting her warmth flow into him for just an instant before pulling away.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand. "You look… beautiful," he said as she slipped her hand into his and stepped down from the porch.

He completely missed the sudden catch in her breath at his words. His heart was pounding in his ears and that was all he could hear.

For a second Cameron couldn't speak but she looked up at him with one of her shy, pleased smiles. "And you look very handsome," she finally replied.

When they got to the car, he released her hand, opened her door for her, and then waited until she was completely settled before shutting it. Limping around to his side gave him the few seconds he needed to gather himself back together again and stop feeling like an overwhelmed middle-aged gimp who was dating the most beautiful doctor in Princeton, despite the fact that he was.

The car rumbled to life and the soft strains of a piano concerto filled the air.

Cameron raised one eyebrow and smirked at him. "What, no classic rock?"

House smirked right back and hit a button on the dash. A brief shuffling sound and the strident chords of a Who rock ballad blared from the speakers.

"That more what you were expecting?" he asked as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the driveway.

"With you I'm never quite sure what to expect anymore," she replied honestly.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be too predictable."

She grinned at him. "Considering the fact that you're wearing a suit and taking me out on a date, I'd say there's no chance of that happening any time soon." She felt herself growing more relaxed as their usual bantering style took over.

Unfortunately it didn't last long. The longer they drove, the quieter House got, until he was only muttering his replies. They drove the last five minutes in silence. He knew that the sudden tension was his fault but he couldn't seem to do anything about it. His mind was wandering through a minefield of doubts, from his choice of tie, to his restaurant selection, to his decision based on Wilson's teasing comments.

He pulled up in front of the restaurant, rolled down his window and passed a five to the valet. "No joyrides," he said as he sized up the kid who was about to take control of his precious, and still relatively new, car.

He rolled his eyes when the kid gunned the engine before driving around the corner to the parking lot. When he looked back towards the restaurant Cameron was standing there with a little smile on her face and one delicate brow arched upwards.

"I'm sure he won't hurt it… much."

"He'd better not." House said as he joined her on the sidewalk and they walked to the door side by side, but not touching.

There was a man at the door waiting to open it for them and they passed through into the dimly lit but lavishly appointed restaurant. House gave his name and the maitre'd smiled, nodded and introduced them to a serious and eager looking man who was going to be their waiter. Cameron followed the waiter and House followed Cameron, feeling older and more out of place with each passing second.

Ahead of him, Cameron's hips swayed gently as she walked, her hair a silken fall over her back. He could imagine that her eyes were sparkling. He was sure that she was smiling. And here he was, trailing behind looking like her elderly uncle or something. Is that what people thought when they saw them? Not that he ever gave a fuck what anyone thought, but what about her? Shit. He was doing it again. He was trying to dissect her motivations when she'd already laid them all out for him. Damn it. He was happy when he was with her, and he knew she was happy too, so why he couldn't be happy with her in a stupid expensive restaurant like she deserved?

They were seated at last, at a table near the center of the room with candles and flowers in the center and decoratively folded napkins at their places. Menus were passed out, wine ordered, and then House and Cameron sat in silence, neither sure what to say to break the uncomfortable tension that had formed a bubble over them.

Cameron toyed with the stem of her water glass as she looked around the restaurant, trying to think of things to say. When they were alone in her apartment they were never at a loss for words, especially him. Now he was sitting with his face buried in his menu, apparently reading each and every word.

She had always been an observer, shyer than she had any reason to be, and often on the sidelines; an audience of one to the dramas of other people's lives. It was easy to fall back into that role as she wondered how long the elderly couple in the corner had been married, and then she watched as a ramrod straight waiter walked over to a table a short distance from theirs. He pulled a rose from behind his back and handed it to the woman seated there, who immediately broke into a smile while her companion thanked the waiter and sent him on his way.

A wistful look passed over Cameron's face as she watched the couple kiss across the table, and House looked up to see her watching them.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low as he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "I thought about getting you flowers, or something… candy… jewelry… iPod…" he trailed off when he noticed that she looked like she was about to cry; not sad tears, but the happy ones he'd only seen in sappy movies and soap operas.

She turned her hand in his so that they were holding hands on the tabletop, in plain view of anyone who cared to look. She tightened her hold on his fingers and let the corner of her mouth curl upwards.

"This is all I want," she said as she squeezed his hand again. "I don't need anything else."

Suddenly House didn't feel old, or unattractive, or even awkward. He wasn't ready to go join the Optimists of America either, but he gave Cameron a crooked smile and reached over to cup her cheek in his other hand for just a moment.

"Let's get out of here," she said abruptly.

"What?"

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. You're not comfortable here, and that makes me uncomfortable. Let's find someplace where we don't have to try so hard."

"This is supposed to be a date," he said stubbornly, "not a scavenger hunt."

"We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves, and that's not happening here." She was already on her feet and House pushed himself up from his chair.

"Are you certain? I'll put on my happiest face if you want to stay."

Cameron shook her head lightly. "Nope. I want to go somewhere you don't have to put on a happy face. I'm so touched that you did this, but I'm not interested in you giving me your idea of what you think I must want. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

House pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and dropped it on the table. "Apparently I'm a slow learner," he quipped, and then he took hold of her hand and headed for the door.


	15. Chapter 15

_Not sure what was up with but the delay in posting was not my fault :) Here's the next chapter... as always, critcism is welcome! **Grissom**... glad you're still enjoying the story. My typos/errors annoy me greatly, especially when I see them after I've posted. I have had someone reading through the last few chapters, but I still end up finding things later! Eventually I will do one big edit and reload all chapters._

Chapter 15

The valet looked surprised and a little perturbed to be asked to retrieve the corvette he'd parked less than fifteen minutes earlier, but a twenty pressed into his palm relieved most of the annoyance. He came squealing around the block, oblivious to the limping man's grimace and the beautiful woman's suppressed grin.

"He didn't do anything to it," Cameron said, with amusement, as they drove away from the restaurant.

House's eyes had been checking every gauge and indicator since entering the car. He threw a sidelong glance her way as he replied, "That remains to be seen."

Her soft laugh brought his attention away from the car, and he glanced at her again, enjoying the look of contentment that graced her features. He turned back to the road and drummed his fingers on the wheel. Where was he going? He had no idea, but he kept driving.

"Pull in here," her voice broke into his thoughts.

"What? Where?" He was already turning in the direction of her pointing index finger. He looked up and squinted at the sign perched on the roof of the building. "Denny's?" Through the windows he saw that the restaurant was practically empty.

She shrugged. "It's food, isn't it? Besides, I like Denny's." She grinned. "Breakfast twenty-four hours a day."

House just stared at her for a minute, but then he shook his head and actually laughed.

If there was anything incongruous about a woman in a silk gown, and a man in a stylish suit walking into a Denny's in downtown Princeton, the wait-staff pretended not to notice. Or at least they pretended not to notice within sight of the couple. Behind the swinging door in the kitchen, the three teenage waitresses and two middle-aged cooks took turns concocting elaborate stories as to who they were and what they were doing there. The youngest waitress insisted that they had to be spies of some sort. The oldest cook just rolled his eyes. He knew an affair when he saw one, and he hoped the woman's husband didn't come barging through the door. Seated at their vinyl-upholstered booth, with ketchup and a laminated desert menu for decoration, House and Cameron were blissfully unaware of the controversy.

Despite her earlier comment about breakfast, Cameron ended up getting the fried chicken, and House got a hamburger almost as big as the plate it was served on. A mild disagreement broke out when Cameron persisted in stealing his french fries after he put up a hand to protectively hoard them. It was settled when Cameron gave her most pleading look and promised to pay him back later. Damn. He'd always been able to resist that look.

With no one around to watch them, and no expectations to be met, House found himself relaxing more and more as the meal went on. Cameron talked about her family, and he only gave one smirk at the discovery that she had grown up on a farm. House talked about his college and med-school days, and she knew not to press him about anything earlier than that.

When the dessert plates were cleared away and only their coffees remained, Cameron was full, and happy, and perfectly content. She looked across at House, attempting to guess how he was feeling about everything, but coming up blank.

"Not exactly what you had planned," she said with a lop-sided grin, hoping to draw him out.

House shook his head. "Not exactly."

"I've had a really good time," she told him, all at once shy under the combination of the harsh overhead lights and his piercing blue eyes.

"I did have one other thing planned for tonight," House said, as he folded and refolded the receipt before tucking it into his wallet.

Cameron looked up, surprised but expectant. "You did?"

"If you're not too tired."

She shook her head. "I'm not."

House stood up and avoided her gaze. She was smiling too much again. "Good. Then grab your bag. We can just make it."

He gave her only a moment to collect herself before heading towards the door. Cameron followed right behind, schooling her expression to one of polite detachment. Eventually he was going to have to get used to seeing her happy, because hiding her full emotions was beginning to get more and more difficult.

Night had taken over, and the city lights gave form to office buildings and the shopping district, with the twinkling illumination from a suspension bridge a distant landmark. He drove out of the center of Princeton and towards the east side, nearer to the river. Shifting in and out of gear, slipping between cars and around corners; Cameron had to admit that House was a masterful driver. He didn't even seem aware of his injured leg as he used it on the gas and brake.

A few more turns and he pulled into a nearly full parking lot, bypassing the handicapped spot and finding one close to the end of the lot. Cameron had never noticed that he didn't have a handicapped plate. It had actually never been a thought in her mind until that moment. Despite his limp, she just didn't see him that way, and obviously he didn't see himself that way either.

She got out of the car, shoes crunching on the gritty asphalt. House locked the car and joined her, and she was only a little startled when he slipped his hand around the crook of her elbow. Her eyes moved to it instantly, taking in the sight of his large hand against her pale, soft skin. He was looking at the building, never breaking stride, as if taking her arm was simply the normal course of action. She forced her smile to be an inward one.

Above the door, a blue neon sign glowed brightly, Giamano's, in a loose cursive script. There were no other signs, no windows, just a low brick building with music audible even from the street. House held the door open and Cameron walked in, immediately assaulted by the smell of smoke, and the sound of jazz. Through a velvet-curtained doorway she could see a few dozen tables spaced closely together, and most filled with people. There was a raised stage along the back wall and a long, bar, packed with the less boisterous, more serious drinkers, along the back. Tubes of blue neon formed art deco images on the walls and red glass candleholders dotted every table. She looked around, not sure where to go, but then House was back at her side and he nodded at a man dressed in a ridiculously expensive suit, and led her to a small round table near the stage.

They had only been seated for a moment when a waiter appeared with a scotch on the rocks for House and a questioning glance for Cameron. She ordered a vodka martini and then cast her own questioning look at House.

"Do you come here often?"

Scotch burned a familiar path down his throat as he shrugged. "Often enough."

She cocked her head to the side and peered into his eyes, a tiny smile playing about her lips. "Have you ever brought anyone else here? It was a stupid question and she regretted it almost as soon as she asked it, but it was too late. The words were already in the air between them.

He stared back at her, expression serious. "Only Wilson and I don't think he counts since it wasn't a date."

Cameron blushed and looked down at the table, concentrating on the flickering candle. Stupid question. She felt like a child.

House contemplated her self-conscious expression as he took another drink of scotch. He set the glass down, swirling it slightly and feeling, more than hearing, the ice clink against the sides. Leaning slightly forward, he stared at the same flame she was watching.

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that hidden beneath this scruffy exterior is some kind of lady's man," he said. "Maybe someone who picks up random women and has his way with them."

Her head shot up, the look in her eyes shocked and anxious. "No! I don't think that at all," she said quickly, suddenly remembering the mocking conversation between Foreman and Chase as they guessed at how many hookers House had slept with. She had wanted to slap them but all she'd done was laugh nervously and try to distract them.

"Two," House said simply. "That's how many in the past five years."

She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

"Oh, and I didn't have to pay them and they didn't come as a set. But you don't have to tell that to Foreman and Chase. After all, I have a reputation to maintain."

She felt herself relax slightly at his snarky words.

"I never thought… Really… It's just my mouth…"

"Your mouth says exactly what's in your head and your heart," House finished her thought. "I like that."

Cameron blushed again. "I thought you always said I was too emotional," she replied.

"Sometimes you are, but at least you're honest about it."

Their eyes met and he could read what she was thinking. She would always be honest with him. She would always trust him. She would always… He shifted his gaze to the stage. He wasn't ready to see what else lay in her eyes.

Her martini arrived as the band began to warm up, and House moved his chair. He said it was so he could see better. He wasn't about to tell her that he wanted to be able to feel the heat of her body next to his. A minute later the music started and Cameron swayed slightly in her chair. She thought of jazz, sexy smoke, and Chopin and how good he looked in that blue shirt; General Hospital, the wind in her hair, and House's hand in hers and on her arm. She hardly noticed when her hand drifted onto his thigh, but instead of ignoring it and waiting for her to move, House covered it with his own, tapping the rhythm lightly against her long fingers.

* * *

Fresh spring air met smoke and scotch and candlewax as House and Cameron pushed through the door of Giamano's and stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was after one a.m., and yet neither of them was tired. Cameron wondered, self-consciously, if she was actually glowing, and House was unashamedly holding her hand.

They didn't talk much on the drive to her apartment, but it was a peaceful, contented silence. When House pulled into her driveway a slight twinge of uneasiness returned to Cameron's chest, but she didn't let it stop her from asking if he wanted to come up and using the undeniably lame offer of General Hospital on tape as incentive.

Ten minutes later and they were seated on her sofa, hands entwined in long brown hair and running over crisp cotton and muscular shoulders while their mouths met in one kiss after another. Cameron could taste scotch and a hint of the cigar she had bought him at the bar when she'd pretended to go to the restroom. Her tongue swept along the inside of his cheek and she gasped when she felt him slide his along the roof of her mouth, sending an electric spark through her body. House's hands were pressing her tightly to him, and she didn't know if it was the alcohol or the music, or the night itself, but she want him to stop. She didn't want him to, but she knew they had to or they'd go too far, and neither of them were ready for that. House seemed to know that as well, and he pulled back, just a breath away, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Much more of this and I'll actually be in a good mood." He was breathing her air, smelling vodka and perfume and coconut shampoo under the scent of smoke that clung to them both.

"We wouldn't want that," she replied, her own breathing shallow.

Pulling back a little further, he looked into her eyes. "You should change into something more comfortable. I'll set up the VCR."

She nodded and rose from the sofa slowly as he let his hands drop from their place on her body. House watched her retreat down the darkened hallway, and then dragged his eyes away from her and picked up the remote control. He had everything cued up and ready to go in a matter of minutes, then tapped his cane with a sort of nervous impatience. Coffee wouldn't actually help that, but the act of making it might.

He pushed off the sofa and started towards the kitchen, calling out, "I'm making coffee. You want some?"

"What?" Cameron called from the bedroom.

House limped down the hall and pushed on the half-open door. "I asked--" That was as far as he got before seeing that despite the open door, Cameron had not finished changing. Blue silk was pooled at her feet and pale green pants now hung loosely on her hips. Her back was to him, a pale expanse of skin broken only by the sway of her hair and the thin black straps of her bra. He was only standing there mesmerized for an instant, but it was long enough for her to turn around and when she saw him she let out a strangled cry.

Her hands flew to her chest, but they couldn't begin to cover the entire scar, and she spun around again, nearly screaming at him. "What are you doing in here? Get out! Get out of here!"

"Cameron…"

Her voice was thick with tears as she shouted again, "Out!"

He backed out of the room, stumbling over his own feet and his damned cane.

As soon as Cameron heard the door click shut she fell to the bed, still holding herself and choking back a sob. Why had he come in? How much had he seen? Everything! He had to have seen it all, and this time without anything to obscure the full vision of what her body had become. A canvas for a jagged line. And now what could she do? Was he gone? Had he left? Was he still waiting right outside the door? What was she supposed to say to him? Sorry, I freaked out, but I never wanted you to see me naked? I'm a vain, shallow twit who can't get over her looks? The doctor says that plastic surgery can fix it if you don't mind looking at for the next year? I promise, we can just make love in the dark until then? The sob broke free and she pushed her fist against her mouth to stifle the sound. One night. She'd had one night with him. One chance. Why was it ending this way?

* * *

Step-thump, step-thump, step-THUMP. House paced the living room, growing more and more agitated with every step until he finally sank into the overstuffed chair. Well, he had his answer about how she was handling things. She obviously couldn't stand the sight of herself. Shit. Fuck. Shit. He pounded his fist into his thigh, throwing his head back at the pain and enjoying it because he felt he deserved it. She was going to think that he had saved her life and ruined her body and she was going to think it every time she looked in a mirror. He had turned her into him. All she needed now was the addiction and the shitty attitude.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Fuck. Things had been going so well. Why the hell had he gone into that room? He tossed two vicodin to the back of his throat, only then realizing that he hadn't taken any since that morning. Closing his eyes again, he tried to think of what the hell he was going to do now. Should he just go? No. Christ, even he knew that would be a mistake. Yeah, leave her alone when she was already feeling ashamed and unattractive, that would be a good idea… No. He couldn't leave. But then what? How long should he wait for her? Was she going to come out? Shit, did she think he had left? A check of his watch and he saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. It felt closer to an hour.

There was no sound, no motion coming from down the hall, and House got painfully to his feet. For another minute he just stood there, staring down the hall, willing her to come out. When she didn't, he limped slowly to her door, stopping there for another five minutes before finally knocking, the handle of his cane echoing in the still apartment.

She didn't answer and he was about to go back to the living room but he stopped himself. He was not going to just sit and wait. That wasn't who he was. He was going to make her talk. Now if he could just make his damn hand turn the knob.

Inside her bedroom, Cameron had wrapped herself in her heavy terrycloth robe and was sitting on the chair in front of her vanity, arms crossed in front of her chest, blue eyes turned almost black as she stared at herself in the mirror. She'd blotted away her ruined mascara, and her cheeks were too pale, her eyes too red. She covered her face with her hands, but lowered them the instant she heard the door opening.

House stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane and looking at her. At first he looked everywhere but at her face, but then his jaw clenched and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"So..."

"I thought maybe you'd gone."

He frowned and stepped forward. "I wouldn't walk out like that. Even I'm not that much of a bastard."

"I wouldn't have blamed you," she explained, seeing in his eyes that he was upset at what she'd thought. "I did throw you out, after all."

"I wouldn't walk out," he repeated.

Cameron sighed and stood up on legs she was surprised to discover could still hold her weight. "Now what?"

"As much as I hate to say it, we should probably talk."

"What is there to say? You've seen it all now. I knew you would eventually. I guess I just wasn't ready yet. Especially not tonight. I wanted to stay…"

"Stay what?"

The smallest of shrugs preceded her words. "Beautiful. For one more night."

Two strides had him standing right in front of her and he grasped both her shoulders in his strong hands. Shit. He hated this. He sucked at this. "You are beautiful." The words came out slowly as if they had to travel through his entire body before reaching his mouth.

She laughed mirthlessly. "A ten inch line up the chest is not beautiful, House."

"You are more than a fucking scar," his voice rose and his fingers tightened involuntarily.

Tears pooled in her eyes and she pressed her lips tightly together.

"If you need to blame me, that's fine..."

"Blame you?"

"Damnit, I'm the one who gave you that damned scar!"

"You saved my life! The man who gave me this is sitting in jail."

They were quiet for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Letting bits and pieces of truth fall into place.

"I want to see it."

She was shaking her head instantly. "House, no."

"Let. Me. See. It."

Blue eyes captured hers and she bit her lip and then nodded her head almost imperceptibly. Her fingers worked clumsily at the knotted tie holding her robe closed, and when it came loose she looked back up at him anxiously.

"I don't want you to see."

His hands covered hers. "I've already seen it."

Her eyes dropped to their entwined hands and she moved slightly and let the robe fall open until it was barely resting on her shoulders. She was still wearing her bra, and she'd slipped into her soft cotton pajama pants before he'd interrupted her. Inhaling a sharp breath she looked up at his face and saw that he was just waiting for her. He hadn't let his gaze drift to her chest.

House's hand moved towards her and then he stopped, asking permission with a look and being given it by another. She couldn't help flinching as his gentle fingertips touched her sensitive skin. A shiver passed through her and then she was still, calm almost, as his callused fingers traced the line she'd followed herself many times that day. His hand felt warmer than hers had, and even gentler than her own.

A hundred images rushed into his brain as he looked at her. Blood, helpless anger, fury and relief. Fear. Fear that he had barely acknowledged even that night. He pressed his hand between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat in his palm. Remembering it beating in his bare hand. He looked up at her worried face.

"This changes nothing. Nothing," he said, the words harsh and resolute.

Tears were in her eyes again and she blinked rapidly, not wanting him to see them fall. Without thinking, she covered his hand with her own. "Maybe from now on, when I see it, I'll think about the reason I'm alive."

He shook his head and grimaced. "Don't give me that much credit."

Slowly he closed her robe again, tying the sash into a loose knot at her hip. "I should go. It's late and you need your rest."

Before he could take a step away her hand was on his arm. "Don't go. Please. Stay here tonight. Just lie here with me. Like you did before."

Just as before, he didn't say anything, simply toed off his shoes and started to get undressed, this time stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers while Cameron slipped a shirt over her head and removed her bra. Rustling, and shifting, and the squeak of the box-spring as they settled in under the covers, close, but not touching. Then a small hand slipped into a larger one, and more shifting until his arm was around her shoulders, and hers was draped across his chest, and her long hair was falling over both of them. Long minutes later, and their quiet breathing was the only sound other than the crickets outside the window.


	16. Chapter 16

_Can I just say that all of my reviewers rock? I'm so glad that people enjoyed the last chapter... and the story in general. Here is the next bit. As always, constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged! _

Chapter 16

Tapping, pattering, soothing, healing. The sound of the rain was what woke House the next morning. He didn't open his eyes at first, content to just lie peacefully, quietly in bed, with Cameron's warm body just a few inches away from his. He reflected that as romantic as the soaps made it seem, sleeping intertwined was actually not the most comfortable arrangement, especially for someone with a half-useless leg. The two of them had separated slightly, sometime during the night. Even in her sleep, Cameron must have instinctively avoided jarring his leg, and his hand had remained in contact with her body. The first thing he noticed, after the rain, was the fact that his fingers were delicately stroking the tender skin on the inside of her wrist.

So that was their first date and this was the morning after. His always-busy mind went back over everything, remembering little details, looks, touches, words. He could picture her quite clearly, standing on the porch looking like part-angel, part-siren, and then again, laughing in the second restaurant, entrancing even in that harsh, unflattering light. He remembered every word she'd spoken as she stood in her bedroom, fearful and anxious around a core of bravery. Literally baring herself to him, and then absolving him of his guilt with just a sentence and a look. Pulling feelings and responses from him that he'd thought long-dead.

When was the last time a woman had made him feel such things? He didn't want to think about Stacy, not now, lying next to Cameron, her pulse flowing beneath his fingers, but it was inevitable. There had been precious few women in his life, and she had been the last to matter. So different. Theirs had been a volatile relationship from the very beginning. It had been all burning looks and sarcastic banter that turned to sex in the car and the sofa and the bed, and then throwing things in boxes for a quick move. They had never been gentle. There had definitely been love, but it had felt nothing like this. They had been two people, together, but alone; filling the empty times but not the empty spaces within. It had felt so very right at the time. He hadn't thought to wonder if there was more. Now he knew.

Was this love? He couldn't tell and he wouldn't say. It was something though. Something new and precious that he wasn't about to give up any time soon. He remembered the knot of fears he'd felt over even the thought of beginning anything with Cameron. He had pushed them aside but they had remained alive. He could now pinpoint the exact moment they had been crushed to dust. It had been as he pressed his hand to her chest and remembered real fear. His petty apprehensions were nothing compared to that. Whatever happened between them, at least she was alive, and he would never stop being thankful for that. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean scent of damp springtime, and let his fingers come to a rest. Blood flowed smooth under his touch, as soothing as the sound of the rain.

It was still early, and he thought about letting himself drift back to sleep, but he wanted to see Cameron's face before he did. Already he had pictured what it would look like, cast in the blue-grey light of an overcast morning. He needed to know if thought matched reality. Opening his eyes, he turned towards her and was met by her unashamed gaze. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and neck, a few strands drifting over her left eye. She didn't seem to notice them. Her dark blue eyes were fixed on him, not examining, or studying but just looking. Admiring.

He wondered how long she'd been watching him, but the question only floated in his mind for an instant before he slowly rolled to his side and leaned forward to press his lips against hers. Their mouths were both dry and slightly filmed with sleep, but they didn't mind. Being able to taste each other at their most basic and pure was just what they wanted.

House moved his hand to Cameron's waist and held it steady there, feeling her skin flush beneath his touch, and feeling his heart rate increase in response. He swept his tongue along her lips and then drew back, staring into her eyes, knowing that his own were just as heavy-lidded and needful. He didn't have to ask and she didn't have to answer.

His hand drifted to her stomach as she rolled onto her back, and he pushed her shirt up slightly, running his thumb along the bottom half of her scar. If she thought he was going to avoid it out of fear or disgust, she was wrong. He eased himself down the bed and placed a warm, beautiful kiss at the base of her breastbone, listening as Cameron released a small sob. He returned to her face, prepared, for once, to face any tears there and kiss them away, but there were none to be found. Instead she raised her hands to cup his strong jaw and urged him down for another soul-deep kiss.

"Beautiful," he whispered into her ear when he dragged his lips from hers.

Somewhere in that exchange, Cameron sat up long enough for House to remove her shirt, and his was quick to follow. Skin to skin, they rolled to the side, just holding tightly, gently, urgently, the feeling sending them both higher. Cameron was the first to move again, her long fingers tracing a line from House's right knee to his damaged thigh, hidden beneath his shorts. She had one finger under the edge when House clamped his hand down on her wrist.

"Don't."

She looked up, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "What was it you said? You're more than a fucking scar."

He had no answer so he kissed her instead, gradually releasing her hand to continue its path along his leg. She was so careful and cautious, leaving feather-light touches over fragile tissue, and then pressing deeper against the remaining, overtaxed muscles, massaging away a dozen aches.

House's lips had moved to her jaw and then her neck, and soon his hands joined them, spreading over her, touching and memorizing, noticing every sound and movement that she made in response. Moments later, her hands were both kneading at his shoulders, and then down across his chest, feeling muscle and bone, as strong as she'd always imagined it. Her hands moved lower, pulling a moan from deep within his chest. That moan was followed by one of her own as House used his long fingers to touch places on her body that she had nearly forgotten about.

Mouths met again, and somehow more clothing was shed, more touches and kisses exchanged until he was above her and on her and in her all at once. Soft sighs, and beautiful groans and words, words of need and desire and comfort and reverence, all blended together to hang in the air, clear as raindrops, and falling over them just as gently.

Release, when it came, wasn't a violent or momentary explosion. It was fulfillment, rushing around them and lifting them ever higher. It was a storm, washing over them and leaving them lying naked in cool grass. It was joy, making them greater than they were before and staying with them as they lay together, flesh against flesh, breath against breath, hot, and achingly spent but blissfully content.

Minutes ticked by… maybe hours… as they lay together, drifting in the hazy world of half-sleep. Outside the window a breeze picked up, and it blew into the room, raising goose-bumps on Cameron's skin and rousing her back to wakefulness. A very slow smile spread across her face and she kept her eyes closed for another minute, enjoying the warmth of House's skin beneath her cheek, the dusting of hair on his chest tickling against her nose.

"I think I'd be up to doing that again." The sound of his voice rumbled in her ear.

"Right now?" she said coyly.

She was supposed to be upset or disappointed that he hadn't immediately declared his undying love for her, but she wasn't. Instead she drew in a long breath as a tiny shiver of happiness rushed through her body. She would probably never get more than five sentimental words at a time from him, but she didn't need them.

He released a throaty chuckle. "Give an old man a break. I'm a bit out of practice."

Again, what she was supposed to feel and what she actually felt, failed to match. Normally mention of his age made her feel like a child before him, but not this time.

"Well I think you just proved that it's just like riding a bike," she moved slightly to kiss his chest. "Not that more practice won't be fun."

Strong fingers traced along her back. "I appear to have released your coy vixen side. Or do you say that to all the boys?" The slight and instant tension beneath his hand told him that he'd just said exactly the wrong thing. He waited for her to sit up and stare at him with those beautiful eyes that could go from serene to sad in a heartbeat, and was surprised when she didn't move. Damn. "Cameron…"

"I'm out of practice too," she interrupted his apology. She knew he hadn't meant anything by his words. They were his shield and his sword and sometimes he just forgot that he wasn't always in a battle.

His hand resumed its gentle stroking. "Sorry. Just a little hard to believe you'd be holding out for someone like me to come along." A gentle press against her back as he held her tighter for a moment. "Saying I'm flattered sounds pretty damn stupid."

"As stupid as saying that it was worth the wait?"

Was that his lips against her hair? It was so brief she couldn't tell.

"Yes. Almost as stupid as that."

The rain slowed down, almost coming to a stop, fat droplets clinging to the gutters before falling to earth. Light began filtering tentatively through the clouds and a few birds called out a welcome from the tree outside the window. Cameron slid her hand up House's chest to lie beneath her cheek.

"We should probably think about getting up."

"Probably." He was surprisingly un-eager to rise and when Cameron rolled away and slipped from the bed, he was even less eager, her pale, naked body glowing in the light of a hidden sun.

She granted him a little smile before shrugging into her robe. Why on earth did she still feel self-conscious? Perhaps because now she didn't fear his gaze, she welcomed it.

"You don't have to cover up on my account," he said slyly as she moved around the bedroom picking up his discarded clothing.

"I know," she replied, her voice sounding both shy and pleased.

"Then why are you?" The tone was still teasing but his eyes held a real question.

Her mouth puckered into an expression of concentration as she tried to find the answer for herself as much as him. She kept her hands busy searching his pockets for the vicodin she knew had to be there. He had almost given up on her replying when she finally spoke, as her fingers curled around a familiar bottle.

"When you look at me that way… I think I must feel exactly the way you do when I smile at you." She shrugged slightly. "I'm not used to it."

She moved to his side and wordlessly held out his pills. His hand closed tightly over hers and then pulled her to sit on the bed, and she looked at him with surprise in her eyes.

"You'll get used to it," he said, as he leaned forward and kissed her.

The kiss only lasted a short time, and when they parted, Cameron was smiling. She raised one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. "Then I guess you'll get used to this too."

She placed a kiss on his cheek and then rose from the bed and moved towards the door.

"Breakfast?"

House nodded, thumb flipping the cap off his pills. If Cameron noticed that he only took one, she didn't mention it. He watched her leave the room and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. Damn. It was going to be another beautiful day.

* * *

Cameron had coffee brewing, scrambled eggs on the stove and toast waiting in the toaster when House limped into the kitchen wearing his suit pants and t-shirt. She looked up at him and let herself really look at him in a way she usually didn't. He looked scruffy, with his hair mussed and another day's growth on his face, but his eyes were as blue as ever and she thought, just for a second, that he seemed to be standing taller.

House limped over to the coffee and pulled two mugs down from the cabinet. "You're cooking. I thought this kitchen was just for decoration."

She shot a sneer in his direction. "Keep it up, and no eggs for you."

He managed to hide his grin as he moved to the table with one mug and then carried the second to Cameron. "Cream, no sugar."

"And here I thought you didn't care!" she teased, light-heartedly, hardly believing that she felt so free to do so.

"Hey, it's my job to pick up on minute details… and you've had your coffee the same way for as long as you've been working for me." He quickly corrected himself. "Or should I say, as long as you worked for me."

Cameron took a small sip of coffee while she thought about House's words. She knew what he was getting at. He obviously still wanted her to go back to work at the hospital, and after their wonderful night and morning together, it should have been an easy decision, but it wasn't. In fact, it was harder. How could she work side-by-side with him now? What would the rest of the team say? Would they accuse her of getting preferential treatment? She knew that House wouldn't do that, and Foreman would probably be fine with the change in their relationship, but Chase was another story altogether.

On the other hand, she had only received one reply to the stack of letters she'd sent out, and her savings account wasn't going to be able to support her forever. She was officially cleared to work in another week, and she had hoped to have a position before that.

"You're thinking so hard I can smell the smoke. Or is that the eggs?"

Damn! She quickly moved the pan from the hot burner and looked back over her shoulder apologetically.

"They're fine… really!"

House just drank his coffee and looked at her with amusement.

"So. Thoughts? What were they?"

"What? Oh. Nothing."

She pulled grabbed two plates, wincing slightly as she pulled muscles that still hadn't healed and probably hadn't been helped by the morning's activities. A smug look flashed across her face. Spending the morning in House's arms had definitely been worth a little soreness. She tried to wipe the look from her face before walking to the table with the food, but she wasn't sure how successful she was.

Not successful at all, but House pretended not to notice. Cameron was looking pleased and satisfied and he was happy to be able to take credit. A month ago he'd only been able to take the blame for her sad eyes and dejected looks. He poked at his eggs, tried them, determined that they were not poisonous, and gave her a few minutes to relax and eat before going back to his earlier question. He wasn't easy to distract.

"Are you going to make me play twenty questions about why you almost burned breakfast?"

Looking up mid-bite, Cameron swallowed and then took a long sip of coffee.

"If I guessed that it was you having doubts about last night, would that get you to share what you were really thinking about?"

"I'm not having doubts!"

House smirked. "Yes, I guessed that by your cat-that-ate-the-canary grin earlier, but me suspecting you of having doubts should now lead you to tell me what you were actually thinking about, if for no other reason than to assure me that you weren't.

He was good. She had to give him credit. He could manipulate a conversation like no one else she knew.

"I was thinking about work," she admitted, shoving another forkful of eggs into her mouth.

"I already offered you your job back," House said casually, "so you shouldn't have to think long."

He felt a good deal less casual when he looked up and saw her conflicted expression.

"I know," she said slowly, "but I still don't know if that's a good idea."

"You said you didn't want to come back without knowing where things were going between us. I think you have a pretty good idea now, so problem solved."

"No, problem made bigger," she countered. "I don't know if working together would be a good idea."

"I boss you around, you keep me in line… what's the downside?"

She shrugged. This really wasn't a conversation she wanted to be having at the moment, and she just wanted to find a way to end it.

"I don't know. Maybe you're right," she hedged. "I just need to think about it."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."

His arrogant yet playful tone made her grin. No more serious thoughts before lunch. That was her new rule.

They finished eating in relative silence, and once finished, continued to stare at one another over the rims of their coffee mugs. Neither was in a hurry to finish, but eventually House drained his cup and set it down on the table as he leaned back.

"So," he started, face contorting into a number of awkward expressions while Cameron tried to decipher what was going on. "I guess I'd better head to my place."

She looked rather startled, as if the idea had never occurred to her. But of course he had to leave. They weren't going to sit in her kitchen for the rest of their lives! She put her cup on top of her plate and reached across to pick up House's as well.

"Right. Right," she said as she stood up.

"Yeah. Not really in the mood to wear these clothes all day long again."

"No. I'm surprised you survived one day," Cameron joked, although she was annoyed to discover that she didn't have the slightest idea what she was going to do with herself once he left.

"So," he said again. It's Saturday. No work for me. And of course, you're unemployed. You want to come over to my place?"

Stunned hardly covered it. Even after all they had shared, Cameron hadn't expected House to open his home to her. That condo was obviously his sanctuary. She was pretty sure that Wilson was the only visitor allowed, and he probably had to bring food in order to be granted permission to stay. Hell, she'd been there twice and had barely made it past the entry-way. Now he was actually inviting her there… not for any reason… just for the sake of being together.

"Your place?"

"That's what I said. If you're going to repeat everything, this could turn into a long conversation." House used his cane to lever himself out of his seat.

He was right, and she immediately pulled herself together. "I'd like that," she replied. "Do you want to wait for me to get ready?" she waved her hand at her currently be-robed self, "or should I meet you there in a little while?"

House step-thumped his way across the room until he was beside her. "You're not supposed to be driving." He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek that felt even stranger because of its relative normalcy. "Go get ready. I'll take care of this. I'm getting pretty good at it."

The dishes made a bit of a clatter as Cameron dropped them unceremoniously into the sink. "I won't take long," she promised, and then she left the kitchen, still feeling the scratch of his beard against her face.


	17. Chapter 17

_Here is the next chapter in the seemingly neverending saga... I'm happy that so many of you are willing to tag along for the ride! Your comments keep my fingers typing fast... I hate disappointing you by not having something up every couple of days! _

Chapter 17

"Living room, kitchen, bathroom down the hall. I'll be out in fifteen minutes. Why don't you try to set up the tivo to watch our soap."

Our soap. Cameron grinned.

"Don't smoke the cigars or drink the scotch," House snarked, ignoring her expression.

"Don't worry. I won't touch your stuff," Cameron teased, but she actually meant it. The last thing she was going to do was irritate him during her first official visit.

House bent and kissed her quickly on the mouth. She didn't even have time to react before he was pulling away and limping down the hall to his bedroom. Her eyes followed him and she blinked a few times. His random kisses were definitely going to keep her on her toes.

Like every man, House had a coffee table littered with remote controls. Cameron picked up the biggest one and sat down on the sofa. Turning on the television was easy, but understanding the rest of the controls proved slightly more difficult. She ended up stumbling over the news from the previous evening and froze as a horribly familiar face zoomed into the corner of the screen. The anchorwoman was talking in her normal monotone voice about the rapist and murderer and his last aborted attack and the fact that he'd been arraigned the previous morning. Anthony Prentis. A name she was trying hard to forget. She flinched every time the woman mentioned something about her. A doctor at Princeton Plainview…apparently she hadn't done her fact-checking very thoroughly… thirty years old… shot in the chest while fending off her attacker. Cameron knew they weren't allowed to give out her name but she still felt herself petrified that it would be the next piece of information given. One more snippet from the district attorney, and then they were on to the next story, but Cameron's body remained as tense and stiff as steel.

* * *

When was the last time a hot shower had felt so good? When was the last time anything had felt so good? Damn. He knew it wouldn't last. Feeling like this never did. Even if he and Cameron suddenly turned into a couple out of a fairy tail, which they wouldn't, eventually the intensity of his current emotions would fade. Nothing to do but enjoy it while it lasted. He was actually able to look at himself in the mirror for a full minute without rolling his eyes or grimacing.

Comfortable, worn-out jeans and a black t-shirt were his usual weekend attire and he slipped them on quickly and limped down the hall towards the living room. He heard the news report as he got closer, and his steps slowed until he was standing in the doorway, watching Cameron as she sat staring at the television. She had one fist against her mouth and the other clutching the remote control.

Fuck. House turned and walked back to his bedroom.

He returned five minutes later, after deciding she'd had enough time to pull herself together if that's what she wanted to do. His own courtesy startled him. Normally, forcing people to talk was what he did best. Now he found himself actually willing to let someone get away with being moodier than him. Not just someone. Cameron.

It looked like she'd managed to figure out the remote control and he moved around the sofa and spared a quick glance at her face. Pale and tense.

"You're looking a little peaked there, doctor," he commented lightly. Maybe he could draw her out without being too obvious. And since when did he care about whether or not he was obvious? "Maybe I tired you out too much this morning."

The sly comment won him a crooked grin. "No… but I have a feeling you could if you put your mind to it."

Well, she wasn't going to talk, but at least she didn't look shell-shocked anymore. House sat down on the sofa and took the remote from her hand. "Mine."

"You said that even when we were at my place."

"The remote is always mine. Location is irrelevant."

"I'll try to remember that."

He pressed the button to start the program and was surprised when Cameron stopped him with a soft touch on his wrist.

"Could we just talk for a minute?"

As if she had to ask. "Please don't tell me you want to redecorate my place already."

Another one of her gentle smiles. "No. I think I like it. It suits you."

"Glad you think so." There was a long pause, and House finally filled it. "So. You wanted to talk."

"I saw part of the news accidentally."

"Anything we should know about? World coming to an end? Pigs flying?" Damn. Why was he still joking? He wanted to hear what she had to say.

"No. Nothing so fascinating," she said slowly. "It was about Anthony Prentis… the man who shot me."

"Someone stick a shiv in him in the prison yard?" The bitterness and anger was easy to hear.

Cameron shook her head. "No." She took a breath and met his eyes briefly before looking away. "I don't even want to talk about him. I mean, I do… in a way."

"You don't have to do this," House was saying the words before he even realized it, and he meant them too. He didn't need to hear. Not if it was just going to upset her. Not if she was only doing it because she thought she had to. "I told you before that you don't have to tell me anything."

"I know that, but… I think I really need to talk… and you're here… and I want to tell you."

"All right. I won't interrupt."

He watched her eyes close and she started talking with them still closed.

"It had been a really, really bad day," she started. "The bank screwed up my last check from the hospital and I had to fight with them so my rent check wouldn't bounce. I spent most of the afternoon filling out fellowship applications, and then found out I didn't have any stamps left." She gave a little shrug and opened her eyes. "and I was really missing the hospital… and you… I guess I can admit that now."

House managed to keep from interrupting, but just barely. He swallowed hard and just nodded.

"I hate grocery shopping, and that's how I spent the evening. That's what I was doing when he came up behind me." Her words started getting slower and she dropped her eyes again. "I was getting the groceries out of the car. I hadn't even bothered to look around. I was feeling tired and sad and sorry for myself and I really wasn't concentrating on anything else. I'm still not sure if I remember everything. Little bits come back when I'm least expecting it… when I'm not prepared… when I'm dreaming." She looked at him briefly, apologetically. "I guess you know about that. I've woken you up more than a few times now." The sigh she released seemed to come from the bottom of her soul. "His hands were so tight, and when he whispered in my ear his breath almost burned." Her hand instinctively went to her neck, brushing away a long-gone feeling. "I was in such a daze, I still didn't know what was going on. I thought he wanted money, or the car… I wasn't even thinking that he wanted me. I spun around and hit him as hard as I could and that's when I saw the gun. It happened so fast, but sometimes I can feel it and it's like it's happening in slow motion and I can feel the bullet going in, and I can feel myself falling. And I know that I'm dying."

Damnit. House knew that feeling. He knew it well. He remembered lying in bed with pain so bad he was sure that death was only one breath away, and he remembered his heart stopping, and the plain white ceiling being the last thing he saw before blacking out.

"I was so afraid… petrified… I couldn't move, I couldn't help myself, but I knew what was happening to my body. I couldn't even tell my landlord what to do to help me." Cameron stopped talking for a minute and House thought that maybe she was done. Maybe she'd said all she could. Then she looked up and stared right into his eyes. "When I saw you in the ER. That's when I knew I was going to live."

"And you did." The words were out before he could stop them, but she didn't seem to care.

"Yeah. I lived, and I've spent the last three weeks trying to deal with everything and not doing a very good job. I'm alive. I should be kissing the ground, or thanking God, or something! I should be ecstatic… and I am… I really am… but there's so much else inside me." One hand moved to her chest, fingers tightening around her cotton shirt. "I get scared when I hear noises at night. I have horrible nightmares and then have to wake you up to chase them away. I see his face on the news and I think I'm going to throw up. There are thousands of women out there who have gone through a hell of a lot worse than me, and here I am still feeling sorry for myself!"

This time House had to interrupt and he didn't even feel bad about it. "Thousands of women get shot through the heart?"

She shook her head. "You know what I mean. And yes. They probably do. And most of them don't survive. Just like a lot of the people we see in the hospital. I used to see people every day who are suffering and in pain. I'd go up to the cancer ward and see women and kids struggling to survive. Now, here I am, crying my eyes out because of a fucking scar."

The use of his own words struck deep, despite the fact that wasn't Cameron's intention. House waited for her to go on, but this time she really seemed to be done. He had both hands in her lap, and her eyes trained on them. Her throat kept working convulsively as she swallowed and he knew she had to be about two heartbeats away from crying. He didn't know how the hell she was holding herself together, and he feared that by the time he was done, she wouldn't be.

Now it was his turn.

"You've seen people who are sick and dying. You've seen them at the worst points in their lives, and you don't think you measure up because they seemed braver than you feel now, or they suffered more than you and didn't complain," he said harshly. That's bullshit. I know pain and fear. I stared death in the fucking face for a week. Every time I went to sleep I didn't know if I'd wake up. But you know what? I would never compare that to what you went through. In an instant your life hung in the balance because a fucking prick decided you looked like a nice piece of ass and he decided he was going to be the one to take you. The people we see every day are suffering, but at least they don't have to visualize the person who put them in the hospital when they close their eyes. So that's one comparison gone."

"But what-"

"I'm not done yet. You'll know when I am, because my mouth will stop moving," he snapped. "You say you're ashamed because thousands of women have gone through what you went through… and worse… Apparently you think that means you should be able to force yourself not to feel anything about the fact that a violent man attacked you, with the intention of raping and murdering you, and that the only reason you're alive right now is because you managed to force him into shooting you in the damn chest. I'm not claiming to have been to any support group meetings lately, but I think that meets the criteria for joining at least three of them. And I'm guessing that if you started telling them that you felt you didn't feel worthy of sympathy and some self-pity, that you'd have a room full of women jumping on you to tell you the hundred and one reasons why you're wrong."

Cameron said nothing. She just sat on her end of the sofa and stared at him. Damn. Was she even more upset now? Had he been too brutally honest? That tended to be a character flaw of his. Was she not ready to hear all that? Fuck. He should have just pulled her close and hugged her. After a minute even he was beginning to get self-conscious and he pushed up and off so that he could at least distract himself by pacing.

"The lips have stopped now. You're allowed to speak," he finally said after walking back and forth in front of her twice.

"I'm not sure what to say," she admitted, voice sounding slightly choked. He could see how hard she swallowed, and the little twitching at the corners of her eyes. She always tried so damn hard to hold herself together.

He nodded once, sharply and took a few more steps, stopping when she spoke again.

"What you just said… it's all true. I heard the words, and I accepted them as truth, but I still can't stop feeling this…" she struggled to come up with words and clenched her fists, pounding them against her legs in frustration. "This horrible sick feeling, this guilt, this anger and fear. It's all rolled together and when I think too hard about it, it fills me until I feel like I need to scream."

House limped back over to her and sat down, covering one of her hands with his. "Isn't that one of the twelve steps or the five phases or some shit like that? I think that's what you're supposed to be feeling."

"But I don't want to!"

"I think that's what everyone says," he told her, and he was surprised by the sadness he heard in his own voice. "If you don't use me as your role model, I think eventually it gets better." Her hand was convulsively gripping her knee and he eased his fingers between hers, intertwining them, and squeezed. "You can feel as guilty as you want about what happened, but I don't ever want to hear you say you feel guilty just for feeling."

Cameron let out a deep breath and felt some of the tension leave her body with it. She looked up at House and concentrated on his eyes. They told her more than his words, and lately his words had been telling her quite a lot. "You'd better watch it. I could accuse you of getting sentimental."

He raised one eyebrow. "After spending five minutes lecturing you?"

"Yes."

A grunt and a roll of his eyes. "Damn. I'll have to watch myself," he said, but he didn't take his left hand off hers as he used his other to set the credits for General Hospital rolling.

By the time the final theme music started playing, House's arm had migrated across Cameron's shoulders and she was leaning comfortably against his side, feet propped on the coffee table next to his. Two months ago she couldn't even have imagined such a scene. House was a gruff as ever. His earlier speech was clear evidence of that. But he had softened about some things, and physical contact was definitely one of them. It was almost as if he craved it, and maybe he did. With pain an almost constant companion, other, more comforting, sensations had to be a tremendous gift. She shifted slightly and ran one hand lightly over his thigh.

"You hungry?" he asked, looking down at her, momentarily stumped for what to do next.

At her house the choices had been limited due to the fact that she was basically recuperating the entire time. Movies, television, reading and crossword puzzles had been their activities. Now she was a guest at his house and he supposed that he should be thinking of some way to entertain her. Of course there was always the bedroom, but as eager as he was to see her naked again, he did in fact want her for more than her body. If he suddenly limited all of their interaction to the naked variety, she just might get the wrong idea.

He looked down at her again, nudging her slightly. "I asked if you're hungry," he said.

"Hmm? No. I'm fine."

"You're thinking again."

She smirked. "I do that sometimes."

"Care to share, or do I have to drag it out of you again?"

Cameron tilted her head up to look in his face and pinned him with her eyes. "I was just wondering what was going through your mind when they brought me into the hospital."

Shit. Okay. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting her to say. He knew that his expression had to be completely poleaxed because Cameron's eyes narrowed as if she had just discovered something interesting and unexpected.

"So… not hungry then."

Her words continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I'm only asking because I was thinking about everything you had to say, and how you said it. It seemed like you had some things you needed to get out too." She gently rubbed one hand on his chest and then pushed herself off the sofa. "It's okay. Forget about it." She turned her back and wandered towards the piano.

Damn her. Telling him he didn't need to open up to her was like laying down a gauntlet. Now he had to talk or he'd feel like a complete emotional coward. It was becoming obvious that he had some competition in the art of manipulation. Cameron was simply much subtler about it. He needed to search her apartment for self-help books.

The leather made a soft scrunching sound as he levered himself to his feet and paced over to the window. Should he give her the full blow-by-blow or should he at least trim out the thousand swearwords that had swept through his mind that night?

"Cuddy was the one who came and got me," he said roughly. "She had to squeeze the words in between my insults and when she finally did, for about half a second I was sure I'd heard wrong. I think it was her expression that convinced me otherwise. We went to meet the ambulance, I saw them bring you in, you talked to me, I went into the ER with you and you know everything else."

Cameron stared at his back, outlined against the sun-filled window. He didn't like to share his emotions. She knew that already, and clearly he wasn't about to start. That was all right. His expressions told her enough. Maybe someday, years from now, they'd be lying in bed together and he'd tell her the story of how he'd felt the night he'd saved her life. She sat down on the piano bench and skimmed her fingers along the smooth keys, not quite pressing them down.

"There was a lot of blood."

Dark blue eyes rose to look at House's stiff back again. She hadn't expected him to speak again.

"Remind me to tell your landlord that he doesn't know shit about stopping bloodflow."

"I think he did the best he could," she replied softly.

"Not fucking good enough," House spat back. "And Nihquist! The man should have his license revoked!"

Looking down again, she concentrated on her fingers. She didn't like seeing him angry. Of course she probably should have thought of that before prodding him, however delicately.

"The fucking moron called your time of death," House spun away from the window and stared at her, "and I was the only one there with the brains to argue with him. If I hadn't been there…"

"I'd be dead." Cameron looked up again and met his gaze.

"You'd be dead." Fuck. He thought he was going to be sick right in the middle of his living room. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't think about the beautiful woman who had lain naked in his arms less than eight hours ago, could instead be lying cold and grey in a pitch-black grave. What if he hadn't been right about the bullet? What if he hadn't known what to do? What if she'd died with his hands wrist deep in her chest. Fuck. He needed to sit down.

"House? House!" Cameron watched him half-stumble to the sofa and sit down with his head between his knees. The piano bench scraped sickeningly along the wood floor as she rushed to his side. "What? What is it?"

"Shut up… Just. Stop. Talking." He bit the words off between breaths.

When he raised his head she was crouched in front of him, looking ashamed and a little scared.

"Okay?" she offered helplessly.

"Let's just say I don't like thinking about that night any more than you do," he said slowly as he leaned back.

She nodded a few times and moved to sit next to him, not surprised when he wrapped both arms around her. "This feels nice," she murmured.

"When I was in that ER, I didn't see you. I saw a body. Something to fix. I didn't know how fucking scared I was until later." He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Lime and coconut. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

Warm hands came up to cover his across her belly. "I think it's what you needed to tell me."

Had he? He wasn't sure. He had to admit - now that the nausea was fading, he did feel better… less like he needed to pummel someone which had been a recurrent feeling over the past weeks. Damn. He didn't like that at all. Next thing he knew, Wilson would actually be convincing him to see a shrink about his leg. No. Never gonna happen. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip. Lunch could wait.


	18. Chapter 18

_To all of my reviewers... I'd name y'all but there are too many of you!... thanks! I swear I type faster just because I don't want to disappoint you by not getting a chapter out every other day! _

Chapter 18

The afternoon passed slowly, but peacefully. Lunch was eventually made and eaten, and then Cameron suggested a game of chess. She'd spotted his set on the bottom shelf of his bookcase, covered in a thin layer of dust. House assumed that it would be a quick game, but over an hour and two checks from Cameron later, he finally managed to pin her down with a rook and queen's bishop.

"Check-mate," he declared triumphantly.

Her lips formed an extremely kissable pout which he ignored. "Next time I won't go so easy on you," she replied with a slow rise of her eyebrow.

"Oh, of course… you just let the old man win," House scoffed as he flipped the wood-inlaid board over and started putting the pieces into their velvet lined places. He glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where the hell'd you learn to play like that?"

"Grandfather," she told him, grin a bit too smug to be called friendly. "Just because I was raised on a farm doesn't mean we were all a bunch of yokels."

"I never thought otherwise," House claimed, with faked innocence.

"Liar."

"What about the piano?"

"What?" One of these days she would get used to House's rapid change in topics.

"You play? You were looking at it earlier."

She shook her head, hair falling forward across her shoulders. "No. Well… a little. My mom forced lessons on us for a few years. She played. I guess she hoped one of us would take after her."

"So let's hear you." House shoved aside the end table they'd been playing on and pushed up from his chair.

"Right now? No…no way. Why don't you play something?" Cameron looked up at him, eyes holding that soft, wistful expression he always had to blink to avoid. "I've only heard you play over the phone."

"I don't play to an audience," he groused, limping towards the kitchen.

"Unless they're a few miles away?"

"Right." 

He disappeared from sight and Cameron sighed. Well, it had been worth a try. She rose from the sofa and walked to the piano, glancing at the books and music piled on top, an ashtray with a stubbed out cigar perched precariously on top of one stack of medical textbooks. She wondered if that was one of the ones she'd bought him for Christmas. She'd heard him mention them to Wilson and had taken a chance. In retrospect, feeding into one of his addictions probably wasn't a good idea, but it had been Christmas and she'd really wanted to get him something he'd enjoy.

The clink of ice heralded House's return, and Cameron looked over at him. He was standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his cane and staring at her as he took a drink.

"A bit early, isn't it?" she said before she could stop herself.

House lowered his glass slowly. "For ginger ale? Not particularly," he said dryly.

She thought about apologizing but decided against it, turning back to the sheet music instead.

"So, you going to play, or what?"

"I already told you no."

"I'll make you a deal. You play something, so will I." It was a generous offer. House wasn't one for making deals. Especially even ones.

"I told you, I don't really play."

"You took lessons, and I can tell by how your hands were moving a minute ago, that you remember something. Let's hear it."

Cameron rolled her eyes and sat down on the bench with an audible huff. "Fine. You asked for it."

Were her fingers actually shaking? House stepped a bit closer and watched her face.

"Could you not do that?"

"What?"

"Watch me like you're going to be passing out grades at the end."

House looked exasperated for a moment, but then he thumped his way back to the window and looked out at the cars speeding past. It was a residential street and they were going much too fast. Of course he was usually the worst offender. His ears perked up and the cars became a distant memory as he listened to a hesitantly played version of Beethoven's Adieu to the Piano. There were a few missed notes that made him grit his teeth, but he was surprised how nice it was to hear someone else playing. It was homey and domestic and everything he usually despised. But on this day, in this hour, he listened and he thought of perfect times that would never be and probably had never been. The final note sounded and he took that as his cue to turn back around.

"Satisfied?"

"Not really. It sucked."

Cameron looked distressed for just a second before pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. "Thanks."

House limped over to her and rested one hand on her shoulder. "You should start playing again," he said, voice low and seductive.

Cameron decided right then, that if he taught her, she'd practice as often as he wanted.

"Up," he commanded. "Go sit somewhere."

"I am sitting somewhere," she said coyly. "I'm sure there's room for both of us."

"I had to turn away while you played, and now you're going to sit on my lap?"

"No, I'm going to sit next to your lap." She grabbed his hand and pulled him slightly off balance so that his face was level with hers. "Sitting on your lap comes later," she said with a grin as she leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

Damn. When the hell had she gotten so confident? Hadn't she been crying on his sofa a few hours ago? That was the last time he played chess with her.

"Have it your way," House said grudgingly, lowering himself to the bench as Cameron scooted to one end.

He started off playing a quick tune, a short piece by Bach, and then segued into Mozart and then to a very slow version of The Beatles' Blackbird. He surreptitiously looked at Cameron who was sitting very still at the end of the bench, hands crossed on one knee, eyes concentrating on his fingers, lips just slightly parted in a way that made him want to stop playing, grab her shoulders and kiss her. Instead he paused in his playing and then started again with Chopin's Nocturne. When he finished, the final notes rang in the air, echoing against the high ceiling before finally fading away.

Cameron slid one hand across ivory keys and squeezed his left hand briefly. "That's my favorite," she whispered, "and usually I'm asleep by the time you finish playing it."

House grabbed her hand when she went to pull it away, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her the way he'd been longing to since breakfast. Soft and pliant and so wonderfully warm and alive. He moved his free hand to her leg and let his thumb stroke gently over the thick denim. A brief flash of memory. She'd been wearing jeans when they brought her into the ER. Damn, they'd talked too much today. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to feel. His hand moved to her hip and then to her shoulder. Then his lips were moving across her jaw to the pink shell of her ear.

"I want you," he murmured huskily.

Cameron felt her heartbeat quicken. She couldn't ever remember House saying anything about wanting or needing or even liking her, except under direct questioning. All those things had simply been assumed. She pulled back slightly and scanned his face, reading every emotion there. She had a feeling that quite a few of them were on her own: desire, trust, fear, guilt; a need to forget some of the bad memories by pushing them aside with good ones.

"I want you too," she said. She wouldn't admit that she needed and craved and probably loved him too. Those were words for another, distant time.

House reached for his cane and then pulled her up with him, and together they walked down the hall and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

* * *

Letting out a long groan, House rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Damn. Time to get up. He reflected, for the second time, that the early morning hours were not nearly as enjoyable without Cameron in the bed beside him.

Their lovemaking Saturday afternoon had been much needier and more primal than their first time. It had been all raw emotion and the heat of flesh against flesh as they came together; greedily exchanging kisses and embraces along with desperate cries and fierce shouts. The poetry of their bodies joining and moving together as one had still been there, but it had been a different kind of poetry.

Afterwards they had ordered dinner in and watched movies on the sofa until, by some mutual and unspoken agreement, they had retired once more to the bedroom. There had been no sex that night, just a few long kisses and gentle touches before they fell asleep, Cameron's hand cradled between both of House's.

Cameron had woken in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and thrashing enough to jostle House's leg and send him grabbing for the vicodin bottle. He'd reached for the light, but she'd stopped him, not wanting him to see her face and the fear written there. Not knowing what else to do, House had pulled her close and gently traced intricate patterns on her bare back until he felt her heart stop racing and the steady breathing that indicated she'd fallen back to sleep. He'd been annoyed by how surprised he was that she would have a nightmare with him right in the bed beside her. As if merely his presence should chase every bad thought from her head. Sometimes his ego disgusted him.

Sunday morning had been spent in bed with coffee, toast and the newspaper; House in his boxers and Cameron in his t-shirt from the day before, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she read. It had been early afternoon before she'd announced that she should really head home. After so many unguarded hours together, they both needed time apart. Time to think and rebuild walls that had started to crumble… perhaps adding doors.

Plans had been made for Wednesday night, and they had parted at Cameron's front porch. Their last kiss had been long and sweet, hands coming up to touch places that had formerly been forbidden territory. There were no declarations of love, or promises to call, just one long kiss and a shared look that said more than enough.

Sunday afternoon had been decidedly anticlimactic, in more ways than one, but House had actually enjoyed the time alone. Cameron was right. They needed space to digest what had happened and was happening between them. He couldn't decide if he loved or hated it when she was right. He knew that he much preferred when he was right. Of course he had agreed with her, so that made him right too.

Smoking, drinking, a tv dinner, a marathon of The O.C. followed by more drinking, piano playing and bed. He'd squeezed his thinking in somewhere between the rest of his busy schedule. The main thought centered around surprise… surprise that he kept looking up expecting to see her there, and surprise that the idea didn't completely bother him.

He had held off going to bed until nearly two in the morning, on the off chance that she would have another nightmare and call him up. She hadn't, and his late night was the reason Monday morning seemed much too early. The two vicodin weren't making his head feel any clearer, but his leg wasn't throbbing anymore, so he stumbled into the bathroom and attempted to make himself semi-presentable for the day.

Normally the clinic was packed on Monday mornings with all the people who had decided to try and 'wait it out' over the weekend. House was surprised to see the waiting room nearly empty and when his clinic hours were cut short by the arrival of a diagnostics consult the day really began to look up. He'd only had to treat two stuffy noses and bandage three knees.

Naturally there was a cloud to every silver lining. The patient had come in with every indication of a brain tumor, except there was no tumor in evidence. Wilson had been the first doctor called, and he was the one presenting the case to House, Foreman and Chase. The look in Wilson's eye every time he glanced in his direction was almost enough to make House squirm. Almost. House nearly decided to go and see the patient for himself just to escape the third degree he knew was forthcoming. In the end, he decided he preferred the devil he knew to the sick patient he didn't, and sent Foreman and Chase off to draw the blood and run the tests.

Meanwhile, he attempted to make a quick escape into his office, but Wilson was right behind him. After lowering himself into his desk chair he picked up his oversized tennis ball and started tossing it into the air.

"Some other pertinent detail you needed to tell me about Ms. Haynes?"

The smile that was already on Wilson's face grew larger and more smug. House rolled his eyes in response.

"You know you want to tell me."

"Tell you how ugly your tie is? You're right, I have been dying to let you know, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"It had to be good or you wouldn't be insulting me, you'd be mocking yourself," Wilson said knowingly, quite unperturbed by House's attitude.

"How many times have you been married again?"

"Three."

"And how many times did I ask you for a blow by blow on how those relationships were going prior to the walks down the aisle?"

Wilson did a fair approximation of one of House's smirks. "Never, and I was always very hurt."

House was tempted to hurl the tennis ball at his head. He settled for rolling his eyes again.

"So, did she like the restaurant? Did you end up getting her sappy flowers?" Years of friendship had taught Wilson that serious questions would get him nowhere, but teasing might at least get him snarky replies which could then be analyzed to decipher their true meaning.

"It was a good first date." House surprised him by actually answering.

"And how did it end? Kiss on the cheek? On the lips? She invite you up to see her etchings?" Wilson chuckled at the classic seventies pick-up line.

House said nothing. He tossed the ball a little higher and wondered if he could bounce it off the ceiling and land it in Wilson's smug mouth. He knew that Wilson was just trying to be a good friend, but hell, he'd only had forty-eight hours to process the dramatic change in his relationship with Cameron. He wasn't ready to start discussing it yet, even with Wilson.

"You sleep with her?" It was purely a joke on Wilson's part, designed to get House to spill the beans on what they actually had done.

The colored ball was caught and held. Long, dexterous fingers turning it slowly while their owner examined it as if it was a precious gem.

"You did! Good God, I can't believe it! I hope you wore a condom… you never know where she's been!"

The expression that rapidly took over House's face was one of fiercely protective anger, and Wilson knew that the old adage 'if looks could kill' fit it perfectly. His boyish grin faded and he looked at House with sincerity.

"It was just a joke, House." He watched the other man's face soften slightly. "One date and you're already gone." He smiled again, this time fondly, rather than smugly.

House let out a long sigh and tossed the tennis ball to Wilson as a sort of manly peace offering. "Dating had nothing to do with it," he said slowly. "And I'm not gone yet."

Wilson decided not to voice his opinion to the contrary. He tossed the ball in the air before throwing it back to House. "Anything else you're willing to share about this 'good date' of yours?"

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of House's mouth. "She plays chess."

"Thank God!" Wilson's eyes shone with amusement. "Does this mean I can stop trying to learn?"

House laughed, a sound that Wilson heard precious little of, and threw the ball against the floor, catching it neatly on the rebound. "Yeah, I think we can end those torture sessions."

"Good. I have enough humiliation in my life." He paused and waited until House looked over at him. "She any good?" The words held meaning far beyond the obvious.

"Yeah. She's good. She almost had me beat." In more ways than one.

* * *

Lunchtime, and House's mood remained remarkably good for a Monday. His patient was undergoing an MRI, he had his favorite sandwich in his hand, and he was contemplating giving Cameron a call. He banked a hard left around the corner to avoid being seen by Cuddy, and then made a bee-line for his office. Two more steps and he could enjoy his lunch in peace.

"Hey, Dr. House! You gotta minute?"

House froze, grimaced and turned around to face a rapidly approaching Foreman. "Since I don't think you'll care if I say no, sure, I've gotta minute," House replied sarcastically.

Foreman let the words roll off of him, though his expression did tighten a bit as he scanned House's face as if looking for hidden information, then followed the older doctor into his office.

"What's on your mind? Politics? Movies? The relative salary increase involved if you were to ditch the coat and start peddling drugs on the street?"

Foreman sighed with exasperation and shook his head. "I tried calling Cameron over the weekend and all I got was her machine. I thought maybe you'd heard from her."

The question seemed innocent enough; however, the look and tone that accompanied it was anything but. House picked up on it immediately and his eyes darkened.

"Why yes, Dr. Foreman, I did speak to Dr. Cameron over the weekend and she's feeling just fine. You could probably try calling her again and ask her yourself."

"Maybe I will," Foreman replied, words almost a threat.

House rolled his eyes and sat down. "Cut the crap, Foreman. We've already done this routine. You think I'm taking advantage of poor, sweet Allison, and you're here to play big brother again and warn me not to dick around with her. That about right?"

Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, and Foreman looked just as intimidating but slightly more annoyed. "Something like that, yeah. You aren't exactly known for being a nice guy."

"True," House said with a quick nod and bright eyes, "but as it turns out, Cameron isn't terribly interested in me being a nice guy."

"I guess she sees something the rest of us are missing," Foreman said with no little amount of sarcasm.

"True again," House replied, leaving off the 'including me'.

Foreman relaxed and unclenched. "If she's happy, I'm happy."

"Then we share the same point of view." House slowly unwrapped his sandwich, staring at the white paper instead of Foreman's curious eyes.

"You convince her to come back to work yet?" He wisely switched topics.

"I'm working on it."

"Good," Foreman nodded, at a loss for what to say. House hadn't said much but for some reason he trusted him. Maybe it had something to do with his expression. "Okay… well… enjoy your lunch." He backed out of the office without bothering to wait for a reply.

House looked up just in time to see him disappear from sight, and then felt in his pocket for his cell phone. He had already decided not to call. Somehow, just knowing that he could was enough.


	19. Chapter 19

_I thought of breaking this chapter up, but decided that I just couldn't do it... hopefully it doesn't feel too rushed. Comments and criticism warmly welcomed. I can always rewrite it to stretch it out. _

Chapter 19

Cameron pulled her hair back and fastened it into a loose pony-tail, startled to realize that there were butterflies in her stomach and her hands were close to shaking. They'd been on a date. They'd spent almost an entire weekend together… large portions of it in bed… and here she was, preparing for dinner at his place and nervous as hell.

The problem, of course, was House. He could be so unpredictable that she wasn't sure what to expect. Then again, she had to admit that seeing another side of him was part of what made her so excited about being with him. They'd only spoken twice since Sunday, and briefly both times. She had called him Monday night, prior to going to bed, after a car had backfired in the street and sent her running to lock herself in the bathroom in a full-fledged panic. The other call had been just that morning; House calling to make sure that their plans for dinner were still on. That call had at least set to rest the soft but still niggling voice that suggested that a few days back at work would have him rethinking their whole relationship and deciding it was a bad idea after all.

Weeks ago he'd jokingly said that he would cook dinner for her sometime, and sometime had turned into tonight. Cameron gave one last look in the mirror and headed for the door. Her cab was probably just about to arrive. The sky was starting to darken and she grabbed her raincoat from the hook in the landing. A small part of her mind wondered if she would be spending the night in House's bed. After their first morning together, she had a new appreciation for the sound of rainfall.

She'd told House that she could just drive herself over, but he had insisted that she wasn't cleared for driving and announced that he would pick her up, despite the fact it was at least twenty minutes out of the way. The cab had been a compromise. Somehow she doubted if he'd followed his doctor's advice to the letter after his infarction, but he was determined to make her do just that. A little smile chased across her face as she thought about it. Having House determined and stubborn about her well-being still made her feel a little thrill every time she thought about it.

The cab arrived, right on schedule, and she gave the driver the address and sank back against the seat to think. All day long she'd been weighing the pros and cons of returning to work at PPTH. Being without a job was making her anxious, especially after spending time shuffling money from her savings to her checking accounts. She had a bit saved up, but it wasn't going to last forever. She'd had one more response to her fellowship inquiries, a large hospital located just outside NYC. Added to her reply from Massachusetts General, and that made two. Two hospitals were interested in her and they were both hundreds of miles away. That was making her old job look more and more like the only choice.

She had loved her job there. It was challenging, interesting, she liked everyone at the hospital, and she had a comfortable routine there. In her ideal world there wouldn't even be a question about going back. Unfortunately the world was a far from ideal place and she was plagued with doubts. Dr. Cuddy had seemed accepting of the idea, and she knew that House would always be House at work, but she was still hesitant. If word of their relationship got out, she was sure that it wouldn't be good for either of their reputations. People would accuse her of sleeping with him just to get ahead, and they'd accuse him of taking advantage of her. And what if they fought? Or became even more involved? House might be okay, but she worried about herself. Her emotions were so close to the surface all the time. Could she take the risk that she'd be able to keep everything contained? Wasn't it House who'd found her crying in the lab? Not exactly a good indicator of her ability to remain detached and professional.

She let out a long sigh and then gave a brief smile to the cabdriver who glanced at her with a somewhat concerned look on his face. Maybe House would be able to set her fears to rest. She knew he wanted her back at the hospital, and tonight she was going to give him the opportunity to convince her that going back was the right thing to do.

House opened the door before she even had a chance to knock, and when he bent and kissed her quickly on the lips she let out a little squeak of surprise. When he pulled away he didn't look at her, but her eyes had taken on a soft, tender expression.

"Miss me?" she asked quietly, and just a bit cheekily.

"Well, your lips, anyway," House replied as he ushered her inside and Cameron continued to grin.

The scent of chicken and wine wafted through the air and she sniffed appreciatively, while House took her coat and hung it up.

"Whatever that is, it smells wonderful," Cameron said with a smile.

"Chicken marsala, steamed asparagus, and rice pilaf." When Cameron looked up at him there was a distinctly impressed expression on her face. "Don't look so shocked. I told you I could cook."

She laughed lightly. "You also told me everybody lies. I wasn't sure what to expect."

House threw a half-snide look in her general direction and led the way to the kitchen. It was galley style, with all the appliances lined up on one wall and counters and cupboards as well. The far end, however, was a bowed window, and a small table and two chairs were situated there. House had even dug around in his closet for a couple of candles which were now set in shot glasses and flickering cheerily. Cameron grinned when she saw them.

"Do you need me to do anything?" she asked, feeling a little awkward just standing around in his kitchen.

"You can finish clearing all the crap off the table," he said as he focused his attention on the stove. "Cuddy managed to dig up a dozen clinic patients for me just as I was about to leave. Didn't exactly have time to tidy up."

Cameron could almost see the look that House must have given Dr. Cuddy. See, there was another reason to go back to work there. She really missed seeing those looks. As Cameron moved the stacks of mail off of the kitchen table, one letter caught her eye. She quickly shuffled through all the rest, pulling out nine in total, and becoming more and more confused as she did so. House had his back to her, chicken breasts simmering nicely in the pan, his hand hovering nearby, ready to turn them. She moved until she was almost touching him before holding out the letters.

"You stole my mail?" her voice held disbelief and anger in equal measures.

In that one instant, House was transported back to grade school when his father had found a box of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. The guilt and feeling of cold-sweat-fear were nearly identical.

"Borrowed." Hell, might as well try the same excuse he'd used with Wilson.

"Borrowed? Some of these have postmarks from almost two weeks ago! You've kept them all that time?"

House turned down the gas and then turned to face her. "I didn't want you making any rash decisions in your weakened state," he said, feeling his normal attitude return.

"No. You wanted to make sure I came back to work for you," Cameron retorted. "I can't believe you would do this." She shook her head as she looked at the slightly rumpled envelopes again, then looked him in the eye. "Actually, yes I can. I can believe you'd do this weeks ago, but I can't believe that you'd keep them after everything…" she trailed off, not about to voice the words, 'after we kissed', nevermind 'after we started sleeping together.' Her hand tightened on the letters and her eyes hardened. "What were you afraid of? That I'd leave and go to Boston or New York?" she asked in stunned disbelief. "Did you really think so little of me? You think my feelings for you are that shallow? There's no way I could have left after you came to my apartment that first day I was home. Even that tiny bit of hope would have tied me to you." Her voice had turned soft, her eyes sad.

"Well if that's true, then why are you upset? I saved you the trouble of reading a bunch of boring letters." Shit. Too late, House realized that now was not the time for snide comments.

"In the first place, some of these letters are from hospitals right here in Princeton!" Cameron shot back, anger taking over once again. "And even if they weren't, do you know how I've been feeling the past two weeks?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Every day without any replies made me feel like I wasn't even worth the effort of a form rejection letter. You know how I feel about myself. You know I don't think I'm aggressive enough or hell, even good enough, half the time. And all this time I've been worried about how I was going to pay my bills, and worried that no one wanted or respected me as a doctor, and you've had these sitting on your kitchen table."

Her voice had gone quiet again, and she looked at him, hoping that he could give her some kind of explanation, but he didn't. He just continued to stare at her with his piercing eyes and his clenching jaw. She shook her head again and took a step back.

"I can't stay here," she said when he remained quiet. "I'm going home."

"It's pouring out and you don't have a car."

"I'll call a cab." She was already gathering her pocketbook and her raincoat.

"You're going to run away because of a few damn letters?" House was almost yelling as he limped after her towards the front door.

Cameron turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes pained, mouth set in a stubborn line. "I'm not running anywhere. I'm going home because right now I can't be with you. I'm sorry. You always want things your way, no matter who you hurt. Maybe you're always right. I don't know… you probably are. But this time you hurt me, and you won't even apologize."

She paused, giving him one more chance to explain. To promise that he'd never do it again. She didn't really expect him to, but she was disappointed nonetheless. Another quick look into his eyes, and then she grabbed the doorknob and left as fast as she could, ignoring the pelting rain that beat down on her as soon as she stepped off the front steps.

House limped over to the window and watched as Cameron pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, rain quickly turning her hair a shade darker and soaking through her jacket. Thunder rumbled overhead and he cursed. Loudly. Wilson had warned him about keeping those damn letters, but he hadn't listened. He'd been certain that convincing her to come back to the hospital would be easier if she didn't have so many other choices… or any choice at all. When had he become so manipulative? He shook his head and cursed again. Become? Hell, he'd always been manipulative… he was usually just much better at it. Tapping his cane against the floor soon became pounding it against the floor, and finally he turned from the window and stomped to the front door, grabbing his jacket in one fist and yanking the door open with the other.

The sound of the rain hitting sidewalks and cars and rooftops wasn't calm and soothing this time. It was violent and angry. A reflection of the emotions passing like lightening between them. Cameron didn't turn around, but she knew he was standing two feet behind her.

"Come back inside," he barked, flinching as a cold stream of water snaked under his collar.

"No, House. You go. My cab'll be here in a minute. You're going to get sick standing in the rain." Her voice was firm, but tired sounding, and she still didn't turn around.

House scoffed at her. "You don't get sick from exposure, Dr. Cameron, and if you did, you're the one at greater risk. You're still on medication to combat infection."

"Which should be all the protection I need against the rain," she countered.

One step forward, and then another. His hand rested on the back of her neck, slipping beneath her sodden hair. "Come. Back. Inside."

The heat of his skin against hers made her want to cry. "No," she repeated, then stepped away from his touch as she saw a cab round the corner. She looked back at him as the car pulled closer. "This isn't easy for me. I told you I don't want to change you, and I meant it. But right now I'm so angry, I can't even look at you. A long time ago, you told me it was a mistake for me to trust you, and it hurts like hell to think you were right."

The cab was at her side and she pulled the door open quickly and got inside, closing it as fast as she could, and forcing herself not to look back as the car pulled away from the curb.

House stood in the rain for almost ten minutes after the car drove out of sight. When he was thoroughly soaked and the pain in his leg went bone-deep, he trudged back inside. He had a date, after all; with a bottle of scotch and a bottle of pills. Fuck.

* * *

Rain pelted the windows and roof, a disorganized cacophony that perfectly matched Cameron's state of mind. She paced her living room, hands alternately balled into fists at her side and crossed over her chest as she tried to hold herself together. Pacing. Great. Now she was picking up his habits.

The first thing she'd done after arriving back at her apartment was open and read all of the letters. Nine replies and six of them were offering her positions… and three of them were located right in New Jersey. Of course they were all dated weeks ago and now she didn't even know if any of the positions were still open.

The next thing she'd done was shut off her answering machine. She didn't want to hear him leaving snarky and sarcastic messages for her. She shouldn't have bothered. It had been three hours and no one had called.

By hour two, she had already started trying to rationalize his actions and then cursing herself for it. Damnit, couldn't she even get mad without making excuses for him? Eric was right when he'd said that it was impossible for him to piss her off. She wanted to stay absolutely furious but instead she just felt empty, depressed and used.

Maybe she should be flattered. He obviously wanted her around so much that he'd resorted to felony mail-tampering. The thought brought a sardonic grin to her face as she shook her head. Control. It was all about control. He wanted everything just his way. He was even more a creature of habit than she was. He had a pattern worked out in his life and that's how he wanted it to remain.

Her mind taunted her with the sickening notion that the only reason he'd started a relationship with her was out of need for control mixed with guilt. Rationally, she knew that wasn't true, but rationality had skipped out of the apartment round-about hour one.

Eventually she collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing at her temples with both hands. Whatever happened next was up to her. Either she could forgive him or she couldn't, but he would never apologize. There was probably only one phrase more foreign to Gregory House than 'I love you', and it was 'I'm sorry'. Cameron knew she wouldn't be hearing either one of them in the near future.

* * *

Three ice-cubes floated aimlessly in the amber colored liquid, growing smaller and smaller with each passing minute, tiny icebergs in a miniature sea of scotch. House watched them, noting the rate of dissolution while the condensation on the outside of the glass dripped through his fingers and onto the hardwood floor. He still hadn't taken a drink.

Fuck.

Why had he kept those letters? He already knew why he'd taken the first few. He'd done it to protect himself. Wilson's astute observations on the matter had been absolutely correct. He hadn't wanted to be forced to voice his feelings. But he'd kept taking them, collecting them each time he went to her apartment, and storing them away like some deranged chipmunk. He knew damn well she wasn't going to take a job in another state. At this point he knew that she probably wouldn't have even asked for his advice about it. He was completely in the clear and yet he'd kept them. An ace in the hole to get her to come back to work for him.

And that, right there, was the answer to his questions. He'd kept them because in the back of his mind he'd assumed that the only way to get her to come back was to trick her. Because after all, why the hell else would she want to spend any more time around him? Except for the very obvious reason that she cared about him. Deeply.

Fuck, he was such a coward. All that ego. All that bluster and sarcasm and cutting wit covering up a mountain of insecurities that he usually drowned in vicodin and booze. Now it was right out there in the open.

He kept thinking about the way she'd looked at him just before she'd left. He'd spent three days picturing the way she'd looked that first morning, peaceful, satisfied and serene. Now all he saw when he closed his eyes was that look of naked pain in her eyes.

She would forgive him. Of course she would. She always did. He'd treated her like crap for six months and she'd kept coming back for more. This time wouldn't be any different. He should just chug back the scotch, take a couple of pills and pass out in his bedroom. By the time the weekend rolled around she'd be calling and he'd be able to pretend that nothing had happened. The only problem was that this time he felt like shit for hurting her.

He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I fucked up."

"House? Is that you?"

"No, it's one of your other fucked up friends."

"What happened?" Wilson already had a pretty good idea.

"She found the letters and walked out," House hoped that the frustration in his voice didn't' carry through the phone lines.

"Did you apologize?"

"What do you think?"

Wilson sighed. "You're going to have to apologize, House."

"No shit. I'm calling you for advice. You've been married three times. You've been tossed out of your house more times than I can remember. You must be an expert by now."

"FCJ."

"In English, please," House growled.

"Flowers, candy, jewelry. Sounds like you'll need all three. Damn, you really know how to show a girl whirlwind romance. Sex on the weekend and broken up by mid-week." His attempt at levity was met with silence. "Sorry, Greg," he said, turning serious. "Don't worry. She strikes me as the forgiving type."

* * *

Night had fallen, but Cameron remained in her living room, curled up on her sofa, with just the light from the television illuminating the room. She knew she should just go to bed, but as pathetic as it was, she didn't want to sleep in the same bed where she and House had made love less than a week ago. She was trying to remain at least a little bit objective, and memories of that morning and that weekend were not going to allow her to do that. She hit the mute button on the remote control and closed her eyes. Things were bound to look better in the morning. They certainly couldn't look any worse.

She wasn't sure how long she slept, or if she slept at all, but the next thing she heard was the hollow sounding rap of a cane against her wooden door. Sleep-filled eyes sprang open and she stared at the door, unmoving.

More rapping. Followed by knocking. Soon he would be calling her name.

She wearily got off the sofa and walked to the door. Deadbolt was thrown back, chain was unhooked, and then the door was opened, just enough for her to face the man standing on her landing.

"You said you had to leave. You didn't say I couldn't follow."

As usual, he was right. Cameron offered up a little shrug and pushed the door open all the way, sighing as he entered her apartment.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," Cameron said slowly.

"Yeah, I pretty much figured I'd be drunk and stoned by now, myself."

"If you came over here to ask if I forgive--"

House cut her off by thrusting a long white envelope in her direction. She took it as a look of confusion settled over her delicate features.

"I know the traditional begging gifts are more along the lines of flowers and pretty baubles. I thought you'd appreciate that more."

"What is it? Is this another letter you took?"

He laughed derisively. "No. It's a letter of recommendation. A glowing letter. The kind of letter you deserve. You hand that over to any of the doctors you're trying to impress and I'm pretty sure they'll overlook the fact that you're getting back to them a little late. Especially since I mention that I tried to keep you at my hospital by circumventing your correspondence." House's voice was gruff and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Cameron looked down at the smooth envelope, tracing the edges with one fingertip. Things with House would never be easy. In that moment she both accepted and embraced that fact. She held the letter out to him.

"I don't need it."

"Well, no, you probably don't need it. Your record speaks for itself, but it can't hurt," House replied, slightly annoyed that his effort at niceness was being shoved back in his face.

"No. I don't need it because I want to come back to Princeton-Plainview."

House's head snapped up and his blue eyes stared into hers. "You want to come back to work for me?"

"Yes."

"So, basically, I stole from you and manipulated you, and you still want to come back?'

"When you put it that way, it sounds pretty pathetic, but yes. I was going to talk to you about it tonight over dinner, but I never got the chance."

"Just like that. You forgive me?" House was still flabbergasted by Cameron's calm and almost resigned attitude. He wasn't sure if he should feel grateful or even more like an asshole.

"I've always known how you are. You've never made that a secret," Cameron replied. "I always knew that you'd probably do something to hurt me and I'd have two choices… throw up my hands and give up, or accept the good with the bad and move on." She shrugged. "I'm choosing option two."

Yes. He definitely felt like an even bigger asshole. Two strides separated them and he closed the distance and bent down to kiss her beautiful, mouth as it turned into a perfect circle of surprise. One hand wrapped around her waist to hold her in place as he deepened the kiss, tasting and tempting at the same time, hitting all of the places he knew she loved. Damn, he didn't deserve her, but she understood him better than he understood himself, and he couldn't let her go. When Cameron leaned back and broke the kiss, she was breathless. House moved his hand from her waist to her neck and tucked her head beneath his chin.

"I'm sorry," he muttered brokenly against her hair.

She leaned into him and let her hands fall loosely around his waist. "I know you are," she whispered back, and then she led him down the hall and into her bedroom.

The rain was still falling, but it seemed to have taken on a gentler cadence now, and as House and Cameron lay naked in one another's arms, it lulled them into a deep and healing sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

_Eesh... begging forgiveness for the time lag between chapters is getting to be a regular occurance..._

_Oracle... I have fixed that error about the hospital name and will be reloading. Val... please email me again and I will send you the link to "Everybody Lies". To everyone else, thank you SO much for your patience and your comments! Hopefully I will have another chapter up before the end of the weekend. _

Chapter 20

Cameron gave a kitten-like yawn, rolled over, and drew in a long breath as she opened her eyes to the image of House's peaceful looking face. His eyes were still closed and his chest moved up and down with the slow rhythm of his breathing. He fidgeted slightly in his sleep and Cameron placed one warm hand over his heart, the sparse hair of his chest soft against her palm, the beating heart, strong beneath it.

How long would this last, this dance on the knife's edge that they were sharing? Not forever, surely. She wasn't a fool. Eventually they would stumble, and then they'd both be cut to shreds. Would she be able to say that it was all worth it? Right now, as she counted his heartbeats, she told herself that she would. The scared and pessimistic voice deep within told her to get out and get out fast before the eventual cuts would prove fatal, but she squelched that voice and concentrated on the heartbeat she could almost hear. It was already too late.

Inching closer, she inhaled the warm, tangy scent of him. There was the spice of cologne he had applied in preparation for their dinner, along with sweat and musk and the cool scent of the rain still clinging to his skin. She was slightly startled when his hand came up to cover hers, and she glanced at his face again and saw that his eyes were open and peering at her curiously.

"You're going to be late for work," she murmured.

"I knew that when I woke up at five," he replied. "I already called and told Cuddy to find another patsy for the clinic this morning."

"She's not going to appreciate that."

"She never does. That's half the fun."

Cameron frowned slightly. "Yeah, but I was never your excuse before. She's not going to be happy with me working there if she thinks I'm making you shirk your duties."

"I didn't use you as my excuse, and I don't intend to make a habit of pissing you off so badly that I have to come begging for forgiveness."

"I wasn't pissed off," Cameron said, leaving off the part about him not exactly begging for forgiveness. Exaggeration was one of House's trademarks, and truthfully, his unexpected, yet typically House-like letter, and singular heartfelt apology had meant more to her than if he'd groveled at her feet.

"You were pissed off," House challenged her, then continued, slightly softer, "and hurt."

She gave no reply other than idly start moving her fingers along his chest, forcing him to release her hand.

"I know they're not shallow," he said abruptly.

For a second she didn't know what he was talking about, but then she remembered and decided to just pretend she hadn't heard him.

"I never thought that they were."

Apparently he wasn't going to let her pretend. She looked up at him quickly, saw that he was staring at her, and looked away again.

"No. They weren't."

"You love me."

The words were quickly said. So quick that Cameron wanted to believe he hadn't really said them. But he had. Her already slow-moving fingers stopped for a moment and then continued along their random course. Could he hear her heart pounding? She could lie, ignore, distract, deflect.

"Yes." Lying was pointless and she didn't think House was easily distracted at the moment. She held her breath for just a second; waiting for something she knew wasn't coming, and then released it soundlessly. "Please don't ask me why. I'm already getting a feeling of déjà vu."

"I wasn't planning to." He actually wasn't sure what he'd planned to do no matter what she'd answered. He wasn't even sure what had possessed him to go down this particularly hazardous conversational path.

Damnit. Yes he was. He'd wanted to hear the words. Wanted to hear them from her lips. Well, he hadn't gotten that, but he'd come close. He tried to diagnose and catalogue exactly what he was feeling, but found that he couldn't. The twisting in his gut could be fear or excitement. The tightness in his throat might be emotion or just an early morning allergy. His hand covered her slender fingers again, resting over them lightly.

"I need to go to work."

"I know." She moved slightly, to allow him out of the bed, but he kept his hand over hers and held it tighter.

"I'll tell Cuddy that you're coming back to the fold starting next Monday. You'll be cleared to drive."

Cameron rolled her eyes at his continued insistence about following doctor's orders. "There's bound to be a pile of paperwork involved."

"You can get it tonight when you come over," House said, releasing her hand and groping for his pills.

"Tonight?"

He succeeded in grabbing his jeans and working the pill bottle out of the pocket. "I still owe you dinner," he said around two vicodins.

Cameron was at a loss for words for a minute and she watched him swing his legs out of bed and thrust them into his jeans. "Seven o'clock?"

He nodded and looked over his shoulder at her. "Seven's good."

After pushing herself up until she was propped against the pillows, Cameron pulled the sheet up around her chest. House painfully bent over to pick his shirt up from the floor and then pulled it over his head, sweeping his hands through his unruly hair afterwards. His cane was leaning against the nightstand and his hand curled around it automatically. A normal part of his morning routine. He stepped heavily away from the bed and paused.

"Mine aren't shallow either," he said gruffly, and then walked out of the room without turning back to meet her widening eyes.

* * *

As House limped down the sterile white hallway he considered that it would probably be less painful to just send a memo or an email, or a carrier pigeon than to actually face Cuddy in person. However, since his pager had been going off every half hour since his arrival at the hospital, he knew it was only a matter of time before she tracked him down.

Her head was bent over some paperwork on her desk, but she heard his distinctive footsteps and looked up as he walked in. She propped her chin on her hand and looked at him with an expression that managed melded amusement with annoyance. Years of dealing with him had inured her to just about anything when it came to his behavior.

"You missed clinic hours," she commented, one graceful brow arching upwards.

"Master of the obvious, as always," House replied.

"I assume you're here to beg forgiveness."

Although unintended, her words, so similar to ones spoken in Cameron's bedroom, gave him pause. He looked down and tapped his cane a few times before stepping further into the room.

"Only if begging can be done while standing and with no actual words of apology," he sniped.

"Apology accepted," Cuddy said with a grin.

House glared.

"Anything else you wanted?" Her voice had a cheerful lilt to it which particularly grated on House, even as it somewhat amused him.

Taking another step forward, House said, "Yes. Dr. Cameron's coming back to work in the diagnostics department."

The look on Cuddy's face shifted subtly and she leaned back and steepled her fingertips, elbows resting on the arms of her chair. House stared at her, waiting for her to reply, and wondering how many clinic hours this was going to cost him. She surprised him with her next words.

"So I take it that you and Cameron have worked out some kind of personal relationship."

Being taken by surprise was not conducive to snarkiness. House tapped his cane again and flexed his fingers around the handle.

"We're… comfortable… around each other again," he said slowly.

Cuddy stared him right in the eyes and her mouth slanted into a smirk. "And this comfortable-ness isn't going to interfere with your work?"

"No more than it's interfered in the past," House shot back.

"Good." She opened a drawer and pulled out a file folder. "Have her fill out this paperwork when you see her." Her smirk turned into a smug grin. "I'm guessing that will be tonight," she continued, "and bring it back in tomorrow. When's she planning on starting?"

"Next week," House grumbled as he took the folder.

"Perfect. I know she's never late to work, so with any luck, she'll drag you in with her."

He wanted to counter her blatant assumption with at least some kind of witty, biting, or just plain mean comeback, but none were springing to mind, and the moment was lost. He mumbled something about bringing the papers back, and then turned and stomped out. As he made his way out of the office, Cuddy stifled a self-satisfied chuckle. Score for the day: House-0, Cuddy-1.

More walking, more thumping, and another office at the end of another pristine hallway. House didn't bother to knock before opening the door. After all, Wilson never did.

The oncologist was sitting at his desk with an x-ray in one hand and a patient file in the other. There was nary a gameboy or yo-yo in sight. House pulled on his best triumphant conqueror look and sauntered into the room to stand right in front of Wilson.

"Well, my evil letter-stealing plan worked. Cameron's coming back to work at the hospital."

Wilson lowered the x-ray and file and gave House a sarcastic eyebrow-raised look. "Oh really? Was this before or after the begging?"

House sneered and lowered himself to the chair in the corner. "There was no begging."

"So you went over there with nothing and she just welcomed you back with open arms and no explanations necessary?" Wilson said incredulously. "How the hell do you do it? You're the meanest bastard I know and you've got the hottest woman I know lapping it up with a spoon."

Those words won him a dangerous look from House, not unlike the one he'd received for joking about Cameron's sexual experience. He made a mental note to drop the jokes about her lest he get a cane shoved up his ass.

"She said she was expecting me to hurt her," House said after a moment, his expression changing to a more thoughtful one.

"Well, it's good she's prepared for the inevitable," Wilson responded.

Another evil eye was sent in his direction, but it was definitely less threatening than the previous one. Good. Jokes about House's pathetic relationship track-record were still allowable.

"I told her I was sorry."

"You actually said those words?" Wilson couldn't shake the recurrent feeling of shock. "What's next, an 'I love you' and a set of house keys?"

Silence from House, and Wilson just looked at him as the other man thumbed through the paperwork he was holding. All teasing fled, to be replaced by a soft, knowing smile.

"I'm happy for you, Greg. You deserve it."

House stood up and walked to the door. "I wouldn't go that far," he said in a self-deprecating tone that he rarely used.

"Don't fuck it up," Wilson said to House's back as he left the office.

"Probably inevitable, but I'm trying to keep my 'fuck up' instincts stifled," he replied without turning around.

Wilson watched him for a few seconds and then turned back to his work, muttering, "Damn, I hope he's successful."

* * *

The rain clouds had finally dispersed sometime after noon, and now the sunshine sent out amber-colored evening light from just beyond the horizon. Streaks of purple and orange edged clouds were visible in the distance, but the puddles had all dried up, and only the damp earth betrayed the storm.

Cameron had her arms raised and was pulling her hair back into a ponytail when she suddenly changed her mind. That was how she'd worn her hair last time. No sense tempting fate. She dropped her hands and let her hair fall in loose waves around her face. She considered adding her usual barrettes and decided against it. Long hair could be very useful as a curtain for masking her emotions if necessary.

House's apology and his words that morning had done a lot to make her feel more secure, but she was still nervous and slightly on edge. It was obvious that he still didn't entirely trust her, and even though she understood that and didn't expect some overnight transformation, it still made her uneasy. If he didn't trust her then he could change his mind about everything in an instant.

That was where the long hair came in. She could hide behind it if she needed to pretend that rejection didn't hurt.

After one last look in the mirror she turned off the bathroom light and headed into the bedroom. She quickened her pace when she heard the phone ring.

"Hello?" Cameron grabbed the phone on the third ring.

"You ready?" came House's voice on the other end of the phone.

"House? Yes, I'm ready. A cab should be here in just a minute to pick me up. Did you need me to make him stop somewhere for me to pick something up?"

"No, I need you to come on down. I'm waiting for you in your parking lot." He hung up before Cameron could reply, and she stared at the phone in confusion for a minute before setting it down and grabbing her sweater.

Once in the hallway, she hesitated for a second, wavering between her bedroom and the rest of the apartment. Should she bring something to sleep in? Chances were good that she'd be spending the night. Chances were also good that she'd be naked for at least part of that night, but she still liked to have something to cover herself with after the passion and snuggling were over. House could tell her that her scar was beautiful until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't change the fact that she hated it. She hated seeing it, and she hated when her arm or hand accidentally brushed over it. She frowned as she made up her mind. No way could she bring a bag of clothing, however small, over to his place. She'd managed to surreptitiously snag his shirt last time, and she'd just have to do the same this time.

When Cameron stepped out onto the porch she looked towards the parking area and saw House leaning against the side of his car, twirling his cane in one hand. He looked relaxed, and she smiled, forgetting for the moment the shadow that her worries had cast over her upstairs.

She took note of his appearance as she walked over and was glad she'd worn something nice. House wasn't in a suit, but his dark pants were crisp and neat, and his white shirt was tucked in and buttoned at the cuffs. In the back of her mind she was actually wishing that he looked slightly more rumpled. She loved how he looked after a day at work with his shirttails out, buttons at the throat undone with a bit of his typical band t-shirt showing, and sleeves rolled to reveal his surprisingly strong forearms.

As she drew closer he looked up and saw her, and his spinning cane slowed to a stop. He walked a few steps to meet her and then halted in front of her, not touching her, just staring down at her face. Large eyes looked up at him curiously before realizing that this time he didn't want to make the first move. She was struck by sudden awareness that he was almost always the first to initiate any kissing or touching between them. She was the one who had pursued him, and how she was the one holding back. Was it a fear of rejection still lingering around the edges of her mind? Reaching forward, she placed one hand on his chest to balance herself and stretched upwards to place a kiss on his mouth. She felt the hardness of his cane pressed against her back as he wrapped his hand around her waist and held her in place until she could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

"Good day?" she asked, a little breathlessly, when he dropped his hand back to his side and stepped back slightly.

"Not bad."

They walked back to the car and he opened her door before walking around to his side.

"Wait, what about the cab I called? It'll be here waiting for me," she said as he started the engine.

"No it won't. I called and cancelled it."

She looked at him with bemusement. "How did you know which company I called?"

"I figured you'd call the same one that dropped you off last night," he answered as he pulled out onto the street.

"Oh. She was quiet for a second, staring straight ahead but peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. "I didn't know you saw."

House's face transfigured into several difficult-to-read expressions before he spoke again. "I was watching for you from the window," he admitted.

Cameron turned towards him quickly, and just as quickly turned away. "Oh," she repeated quietly, and she let her hand slip across the leather seat and onto the much larger one that gripped the gearshift.

* * *

Leather and books, old wood and masculinity, with the slight drifting hint of good cigar smoke. That was what House's place usually smelled like. Last night that aroma had been over-layed with the scent of chicken and wine. Now it was the warm tang of onion and steak that floated in the air and out the door as House held it open for Cameron.

She smiled as she turned to him. "It smells wonderful. Even better than last night."

"So no fear of mad-cow then. That's good. I thought of saving the chicken from last night but decided the less we think about that, the better."

Cameron nodded and followed him to the kitchen. "I'm sure it was great," she said, looking up at him and then away, and then back, but still avoiding his eyes. "I probably should have just stayed." She sighed and fiddled with the strap on her pocketbook. "Running away. Not too mature."

"Yeah. About as mature as stealing someone's mail."

She looked up again, but he had turned towards the oven and was opening it up and checking the progress of the pan-broiled steaks and baby new potatoes. She walked over to him and peered into the oven too. The heat warmed her face and she could blame it for the sudden color in her cheeks.

"Need help?" she asked, as he pulled a bowl of salad out of the fridge.

"No. I hid everything else that might incriminate me," he quipped, then tilted his head towards the table. "You could light the candles," he said.

The matches were on the counter and Cameron noticed that they were from the jazz club he'd taken her to on Friday. She opened the box, daintily took one out and struck it against the side, watching it burst to life with a spark and a puff of smoke. Seconds ticked by while she watched it burning down the thin wood.

"Do I have to lock up the matches and lighter fluid, Pyro?" House's voice, right beside her ear, made her jump and she quickly blew the match out before it could burn her fingers.

Cheeks tinged pink again, and expression slightly sheepish, she shook her head. "No. I was just thinking about that night."

House took the box of matches from her, running his thumb over the club logo. "It was a good night," he agreed.

Cameron thought that was understating it, but about what she expected from him. Slightly tense muscles began to relax and she followed his graceful hand as he struck another match and lit the two uneven candles in their shot-glass holders.

"Sit," he ordered, and then propped his cane against the table and limped heavily back to the stove to serve the food.

Plates were served, wine was poured, a shy smile from Cameron and a smug look from House. Then they sat across from each other, staring into the candles, staring into each other's eyes, for what seemed like a long time, until House blinked and announced that the food he'd slaved over was getting cold.

The rest of the meal was anything but silent. Cameron kept complimenting the food until House told her to just shut up and eat, and then he talked about the clinic in between bites and she filled him in on the latest episode of General Hospital.

"I brought you a present," House announced as they cleared the table together.

"What?"

"Don't get all excited. It's nothing sappy or sentimental, and actually it's from Cuddy."

"From Cuddy?" Cameron's brows drew together, forming a little furrow between them.

"Your paperwork to fill out," House explained, pouring more wine and handing her a glass.

They moved into the living room and he pointed to the red folder on the coffee table with his cane.

"She wants 'em back tomorrow."

Cameron dropped down onto the sofa and picked up the folder. "Why can't she just take all my old paperwork, photocopy it, and put it in this folder?" she asked, being uncharacteristically annoyed.

"It's the joy of bureaucracy," House replied. "Gotta let her have her fun."

"I suppose you're right. I'm glad she's letting me come back at all."

"Believe me, she's thrilled. I think she sees me as her temperamental two-year-old and you as the adorable babysitter."

Cameron had put her glasses on, and now she looked at him over the top rim. "Adorable babysitter?"

"Well, something adorable that will keep me out of her hair for five minutes."

She didn't tell him that it had been the 'adorable' part of the phrase and not the 'babysitter' that had caused her doubtful look.

"Little does she know that I plan on steam-rolling over you just like always." He was looking extremely egocentric but the look softened as he met her gaze. "At work, that is," he amended.

A tiny, half-hidden smile was his reward before she opened the file and stared. The first sheet of paper was blank, but taped rather clumsily to the center of it was a slender silver barrette with filigree designs etched into it. It looked very old and very expensive. Cameron looked up, an expression of pleased surprise on in her eyes.

"I decided you could use a new bauble after all," House said simply.

Cameron traced the barrette with one finger and then closed the folder and held her hand out to the man sitting next to her.

"I think I can fill these out tomorrow," she said softly. "Take me to bed."

House didn't need to be asked twice.


	21. Chapter 21

_Well, a bit of a wait for you guys, but not too long, and this chapter is a bit longer. The "story" is now up to 190pages! Truly monstrous... As usual, thank you all for your kind words and support :) _

Chapter 21

They held hands all the way into the bedroom, and then House pulled her tightly into his embrace and kissed her almost savagely, teeth knocking against hers, mouth slanted to cover as much of hers as possible. Cameron was startled by the intensity, but when his tongue pressed for entrance, she sighed and allowed it inside.

House was getting better with words, but there were still so many things he felt incapable of vocalizing. There were torrents of emotion that could only be released through his hands, his mouth, his body. When he'd gone to her apartment the night had been spent in tenderness, with gratitude the foremost thought in his mind. Now he loosed all of the rest of his feelings as he gripped her hips and her shoulders, holding her in place against his hardening body.

One mistake. One asinine move on his part had almost cost him this. Almost cost him the feel of her slim back beneath his hand, and the silk of her hair, like water cascading over his wrist. He pulled back far enough to pull her sweater over her head, and then held her close again, ravaging her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of her skin, and thanking God, Wilson and Cameron that he hadn't already fucked things up beyond repair.

He was dimly aware of her silken lips against his ear, and the soft, breathy voice emanating from them. He could feel her words thrumming beneath his mouth at the base of her throat.

"Slow down… we've got all night," she whispered, her tone impish yet slightly bewildered.

His hands froze as he only then noticed how rough he was being. Damn. One more thing to berate himself about. Callused fingertips soothed reddened skin, and his tongue washed over the mark he'd left on her neck. He looked down at her, with apology shining in the depths of his clear eyes and visible even in the darkened room. She merely smiled at him, rather shyly, and raised one hand to touch the side of his face.

"Bed?" she asked softly, and he nodded and quickly undressed.

He knew his actions were halting and clumsy, the inevitable curse of his crippled leg, but as usual she seemed not to notice, and even looked away, either by design or by accident, when he was in his most awkward positions. In some dim part of his mind he knew that she had to be granting him that slim bit of privacy on purpose. The only other women he'd been with since his infarction had stared openly, or worse yet, attempted to help. Only Cameron, silly, naïve, little Cameron, had always looked away, or through or over him, as if his motions were the most natural of which the human body was capable.

Crawling between the sheets, he reached out his hand, and she grabbed it this time she was the one to pull him closer. Their eyes met an instant before their mouths, and House was grateful that arousal was pushing aside the annoying lump in his throat.

Every touch and kiss increased in intensity until House had to remind himself again that she was still recovering. His fingers ran carefully along her scar and he kissed the top of it reverently, as he had every time they'd come together. It had become a talisman for him in a way, a symbol of her continued life. Her hand on the back of his neck urged his mouth away from it and back to her lips, and he allowed it, feeling, in the split-seconds of passion, that he would allow her almost anything.

Grasping fingers, searching mouths, and heat were all they knew for an unknowable space of time. Words became sighs and guttural noises. The moonlight tossed them both into shadowy relief, but as passion reached its apex House kept his eyes trained on Cameron's face. Her eyes were closed, lips parted as breath came fast and shallow and her sinewy neck arched, graceful and perfect. At last she called out his name and he was undone, burying his face in her hair and letting it muffle his shout.

"Greg," she repeated it over and over again as she stroked her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

His mouth curled around her name, but he couldn't say it. He was frozen at the thought that it wouldn't sound natural coming from him, not the way his name sounded, so sweet and clear, falling from her swollen lips. He kissed her again to silence her. Physical intensity he could take, but the emotional side left him feeling strangely fulfilled, yet woefully inadequate as he pulled in all Cameron could give but returned so little to her. He rolled away, wincing only slightly before pulling her close with one hand around her shoulders.

The shadows along the bed and the walls shifted as time passed and breathing settled into a peaceful cadence. Both pairs of eyes were closed, and House knew that Cameron thought he was asleep, but he heard her words clearly, and stored them away along with the sound of his name and another silent promise not to fuck things up.

"I do love you," she whispered, breath hot against his chest, "and I don't care if you can never say those words to me."

* * *

By the time morning came they had drifted apart, as usual, yet still remained touching slightly. He was on his back with a hand curled in her hair on the pillow, and she was on her side with one leg bent, shinbone pressing against his hip. He was the first to wake, and he sifted her hair through his fingers as if weighing it. The gentle tugging was enough to rouse her and she blinked at him sleepily.

"So I guess you'd be upset if I cut it all off," she said, still bathed in the warmth of sleep.

"Yes. So don't," he replied, turning his head to look at her.

The sight of her in his bed, sprawled against pale grey sheets and wearing his shirt was enough to make him want to call in sick, but he had a feeling that Cuddy would be somewhat less receptive of that two days in a row. He forced himself to look away, and then rolled over and grabbed his pills from the nightstand. Two tumbled out into his palm, but he only swallowed one, and tilted the other back into the bottle.

"I'd better fill out those forms so you can bring them in," Cameron said as she swung her legs out of the bed and stood up. "Should I make coffee?"

As she walked into his field of vision, clad, as far as he knew, only in the t-shirt that fell to the mid-thigh, House was again hit with the instant desire to grab her and pull her back into the bed. He groaned and maneuvered himself out of it instead.

"Yeah. It'll be the only decent cup I get all day. Thank God you're coming back on Monday."

"Good to know I'm useful," Cameron said, playfully sarcastic.

"Definitely. I've got a stack of mail in need of girly-Gs and I still can't find the sugar." He walked into the bathroom as he spoke, leaving Cameron to roll her eyes and grin.

* * *

House was a known bastard, and there were several reasons he was glad about that. One of them was definitely the fact that other members of the hospital staff invariably discovered that they'd either forgotten something important or really needed to take the stairs when the sliding doors opened and they saw him in the elevator. He tapped his cane in time with the music blaring from his iPod and watched the numbers above the doors light up in sequence. A tinny ding that he couldn't hear and then the doors parted and he stepped out onto his floor.

He didn't hear the sound of expensive shoes behind him and was startled at the touch of a hand on his arm. Quick reflexes spared Wilson a cane-jab to the gut. House glared at him and pulled the earphones out, letting them dangle from his breast pocket.

"Let me guess. You just risked life and limb to tell me that I was right and my patient is now recovering from surgery and will be able to leave the hospital within a week."

Wilson, as always, was immune to House's snide tone. "Got it in one."

House nodded and continued down the hall towards his office. "Good. Maybe the next patient will actually present with something challenging."

The fact that the patient in question had gone to three specialists with nothing to show for it other than a worsening condition seemed to have slipped House's mind. Wilson rolled his eyes and trailed after him. It was strange that some of House's egotism took the form of downplaying his own successes.

"Still here, eh? I'm going to start thinking you're a member of my team and start treating you like crap," House said mildly.

"You already treat me like crap, so how would I know the difference?" He said with a grin.

House sneered at him. One-upped in his own office. He needed to work on his bantering skills.

"Speaking of teams, have you told yours that Dr. Cameron is coming back?"

The coffee in his mug was cold, bitter and sugarless. House looked at it with contempt and set it back on the desk, watching it slosh over the side and drip onto the mail.

"Nope. They're smart boys. They're bound to figure it out when she comes through the door."

Wilson chuckled. "So I guess you won't be throwing her a 'welcome back' party."

Blue eyes bored into him, and he laughed again, then turned to leave the office.

"Hey. I need a favor."

Wilson stopped walking and looked up with surprise. House often needed favors, but he rarely asked for them, preferring to either demand them or simply assume that his needs would be met automatically.

"What kind of favor?"

"Talk to your buddy Paulson and get an appointment for Cameron. I know he's got a waiting list six months long, so make him squeeze her in." House appeared to be concentrating on a patient file and barely looked at his friend.

Wilson walked back to the middle of the office, forehead wrinkling in amusement and puzzlement. "You want me to get her an appointment with a plastic surgeon? What, is that the newest one-week anniversary gift? No wonder all my wives left me."

With his eyes rolling towards the ceiling and his fingers drumming along the edge of his file, House was the picture of exasperation. "She wants the scar removed. The scar I fucking gave her, so could you just make the appointment?"

Amusement faded into understanding. "She told you that?"

"No. The fact that she pulls on any available clothing as soon as possible after…" he stopped speaking abruptly and his lips rolled into a grimace. "Trust me. She wants it gone."

Wilson folded his arms and looked at House sympathetically. "No offense, Greg, but assuming that your girlfriend wants plastic surgery? Not the best idea. Might possibly convey the wrong impression."

"Girlfriend?" House said distastefully, ignoring the rest of Wilson's advice. "Haven't we come up with a better word than that?"

"Partner? Paramour?"

"I'm not gay and I'm not French."

"Lover?" Wilson said, waggling his eyebrows.

House's glare was set at a force ten deathray.

"Just going by the available evidence," Wilson continued with a smirk.

"Unlike your trysts, I'd like to think there's more to the relationship than sex."

"Ooh, that stung," Wilson grabbed his chest in mock injury. "Significant other?"

That was met with another expression of dislike. "I think I know why people get married right out of high school. Husband and wife have a certain ring to them."

"True, but I think Cameron requires more than a week of dating before she'll agree to marriage." He chose that moment to head for the door and avoid the possibility of being hit by a flying cane.

"Wilson."

Again, he halted in his tracks.

"I'll talk to Paulson," he said without turning around.

"Thanks."

* * *

Cameron's apartment was spotless. She knew it was spotless because she had just spent the morning cleaning it room by room. It hadn't even been particularly dirty since she'd spent the majority of her imposed recovery time in either her bedroom or the living room, but spring had brought with it a layer of pollen and it had felt good to get things dusted, vacuumed and organized again. The fact that she got almost as much satisfaction out of a clean apartment as she did from making a good call at the hospital was not lost on her. She chalked it up to being one of the traits passed on from her mother, completely forgetting the almost compulsive organization with which her father ran their farm.

It felt nice to be tired and achey from something other than a walk down the stairs, and she lowered herself to the sofa with a contented sigh. Her smile turned into a smirk as she acknowledged that her recent activities with House had also left her somewhat tired and slightly achey. Of course it was a completely different kind of ache.

Thinking about him led to missing him and she picked up the remote and turned on the television in an effort to distract herself. Great. Nothing but soap operas. Not exactly a distraction as she considered what his reaction would be to the plot-twists du jour. She turned the volume down and picked up the phone instead. He was probably holed up in his office trying to watch the show. He'd said she could call. Well, more precisely, he'd said she could call his home in the middle of the night, but he probably wouldn't hang up on her.

Her apartment, however clean, felt empty and lonely without him there and she was annoyed that she couldn't shake that feeling. Mentally, psychologically, she knew that weeks of almost daily contact were bound to lead to a certain dependency, but it still made her uncomfortable to admit to herself, nevermind him. She had already loved him in the abstract, but now she loved him in reality, and the truth of that was almost shocking to her.

Damnit, she wasn't in high school. If she wanted to call her damn boyfriend, then she could damn well do it. She winced as her mind passed over that one word. Eesh. They really needed to come up with something better than that. While she was thinking of alternatives, and before she could change her mind, she hit speed dial on the telephone.

"Not interested!" House picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, it's me," Cameron replied quickly before he could hang up. She could hear his chair squeaking as he moved. Probably taking his feet down from the top of his desk.

"Hey. Everything all right? You need something?"

Cameron was surprised at his slightly alarmed tone, and then she realized that the only times she had ever called him were when she was upset.

"I'm fine," she hurried to reassure him. "I don't need anything. I want something."

"Oh. Okay. What do you want?" Now House sounded confused.

"Dinner with you tonight. You don't have to cook. You can just come over and I'll order something."

There was silence from House, and Cameron nervously switched the phone to her other ear. She'd been doing a pretty good… okay, adequate… okay, fairly pathetic job of presenting herself as a strong, independent woman. She could now mark another notch in her belt. And here calling him had seemed like such a brazen thing to do…

"Lonely?"

Cameron swallowed and licked her lips, tugging the lower one between her teeth. "Well, I am alone," she stated the obvious.

"Six-thirty work for you?"

She took a deep breath to settle herself. "That would be fine."

"Okay then. Six-thirty."

"Wait!" Cameron stopped him from hanging up with her short exclamation.

"Something else?" He sounded concerned rather than annoyed. That was good.

"I just… Look… I know you're probably feeling crowded, and I told you I'm not the clingy type, so I'm sorry I keep coming across that way. I think once I have work to keep me occupied… I'm just…"

"Cameron." Her name from his lips silenced her.

"Yeah?"

"Too nice, naïve, emotional, empathetic, determined, stubborn, stoic, trusting, foolish and smart. You'll notice that clingy is conspicuous in its absence."

Her smile returned as relief prickled her skin. "Thanks," she murmured. Then, a second later, and with a touch of playfulness: "Wait a second. Foolish? When?"

"I can think of at least one decision that fits the bill," he said dryly.

"I think you're confusing foolish with smitten."

"Either way the results were the same."

"Thank goodness," she replied with true gratitude infusing her words.

"I'll see you tonight."

"Go save some lives."

"Cameron?"

"Putting in your food requests now?" she asked.

"No." A pause and then, "I've been lonely too."

Cameron didn't know how to respond, but luckily she was spared the need to because House hung up as soon as his words reached her ear.

* * *

Dinner that night was Chinese food, followed by a patently ridiculous sci-fi movie and the peaceful sensation of drifting to sleep while knowing the person you care about is beside you. They hadn't made love. They hadn't even slept in the nude. House was appalled by the sappy sentiment that flashed in his brain just before he fell asleep and yet he couldn't deny the truthfulness of it. Sometimes just being close really was better than sex.

They spent most of Saturday together, wandering down to the river to watch the skullers and bringing a picnic lunch courtesy of the deli down the street from Cameron's place. It was normal and comfortable; two things that were rapidly beginning to define their relationship. House didn't look away when she smiled anymore, unless it was the wide open, heart-stopping variety.

Evening found them dodging raindrops once again, and seeking refuge in a little Italian restaurant. Good food, warm atmosphere, and House snarking on the assorted patrons. Cameron couldn't ask for more, especially not when his hand so frequently found hers and his eyes held that mystified gratefulness as if he still couldn't quite believe the recent turn of events.

His bed was a less than restful place that night, and it was close to three in the morning by the time they finally let sleep claim them, hands entwined on the mattress between them.

House had dropped her off at her apartment late the next morning, and he hadn't seen or spoken to her since. She had told him that she needed to gather herself together for work in the morning, which he could understand. As he walked down the hallway towards his office he was looking forward to seeing her sitting at his desk calmly sorting the mail.

Disappointment was the first emotion to pass through him as he glanced through the blinds and saw his empty chair. His face contorted into a few more expressions before any on-lookers could get the wrong impression. He was still a heartless bastard, after all. Heartless bastards didn't get disappointed. The steps through the door and around his desk were much slower than the ones that had carried him from the garage to the office door. The chair squeaked as he sat down and he let out an annoyed sigh and mentally rolled his eyes and bent to open his lower desk drawer and retrieve his gameboy.

"Knock-knock?"

House wiped the ridiculous grin off his face before straightening up to face the new arrival. "You realize saying 'knock-knock' after entering defeats the whole purpose," he commented.

"Hadn't thought about it," Cameron said as she held out his mug, steam wafting from within. "Accept this as an apology for my poor manners."

She grinned as he took a sip and sighed in pleasure. "It may take a few more mornings with coffee like this before you're completely forgiven."

"I think that can be arranged."

"Have you seen the rest of our merry band?" he inquired.

"Not yet. I was in Dr. Cuddy's office signing a few more forms."

"Figures. The woman must get paid by the page." He took another sip and allowed his pleasure at her presence to be transmitted through his eyes before blinking once, slowly, and pushing all personal feelings as far down as possible. When he opened his eyes Cameron was looking at him with what he guessed was an expression identical to his own. "Ready to get to work saving the idiots of the world?"

"Very ready."

"Good. Why don't you head down to the conference room. They'll be all gushy and mushy and I don't want to get any of that on me. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Sounds good." She headed to the door and smiled at him, just a small, quick one. "It's good to be back, Dr. House."

"Good to have you back, Dr. Cameron."

* * *

"Good morning, guys. What's on the table for today?" Cameron walked in looking more confident than she felt, although she wasn't exactly certain what was causing her nervousness.

"Cameron! You're back!" Foreman exclaimed as he jumped up and met her in the middle of the room.

He threw his arms around her and pulled her into a warm hug, then quickly stepped back when she let out a little grunt of pain.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, unable to completely erase his smile despite feeling bad about hurting her. "Don't know my own strength."

She grinned at him, one of those pleased grins that reached right to her eyes. "That's okay. It was worth it."

Chase was on his feet by that time and he leaned against a chair and offered Cameron his hand. "Glad to see you came to your senses and decided that it was bad enough just working for the ol' bastard," he said as they shook hands.

Cameron's expression went from happy to distressed in approximately a nanosecond.

Foreman glowered at Chase and the blond doctor took a step back and held up both hands.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't get excited," he directed those remarks at Foreman. "Allison, are you telling me that you're seeing him and you're still coming back to work here?"

Cameron's feelings were quickly shifting. She'd started out upset and a little embarrassed that her still very fragile relationship with House seemed to be fodder for the hospital rumor mill, but now she was becoming angry.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Chase replied. "How's it going to look? You're sleeping with your boss for God's sake!"

"Fuck off, Chase," Foreman growled. He was beginning to wonder why he'd seen House as a threat to Cameron's happiness when Chase was a much closer target.

"I'm just being honest!"

Cameron put her hands on her hips and stared Chase down. "We can keep our personal lives out of the hospital," she said hotly.

Chase sniffed. "Yeah. We'll see how long that lasts."

Foreman would have said something else, but House chose that moment to make an appearance.

Limping through the door, House tried to judge the looks being thrown around the room. He had a relatively good idea of what had been said prior to his arrival just based on Cameron's expression.

"Oh goodie. I see you've met the newest Houseketeer. I trust introductions were short?" he said as he crossed to the whiteboard and slid three identical patient charts across the table to the places where the three other doctors normally sat. "We've got a guy croaking down in ICU, so let's see if we can't prolong his life a bit."


	22. Chapter 22

_My work week was particularly busy, but here is a nice-sized chapter to make up for the lack of posting. This story now tops **TWO HUNDRED PAGES**! Wow. Who would have thought that my little pounded-out-ramble would turn into this massive story! I credit all of my reviewers with spurring me on, and I thank you most profusely once again! _

Chapter 22

That first day passed faster than any in recent memory. House moved from clinic to diagnostics department with energy he hadn't felt in weeks. He was extra snarky to a man who came in concerned that his wife had given him an STD before admitting that he was the one who'd had an affair. He shut Cuddy down when she attempted to schedule him to work extra hours in the clinic. He was sarcastic and smug when his second diagnosis on the man in ICU turned out to be the correct one. All in all, a fulfilling day. The fact that Cameron's return had precipitated his good mood was something he noted dispassionately and filed away to be dealt with later.

Other members of the hospital staff were less circumspect.

"Look. He didn't rip any of us new assholes for a change, we saved the patient and we all look good. What the hell is your problem?" Foreman tossed his lab coat onto a chair in the conference room and fixed Chase with an aggravated stare.

"Yeah, we all look good," Chase replied snidely. "Some better than others."

"Jesus, are you back to that again? Cameron was right about the drug interaction! Would you prefer it if she'd missed it and Hodges had died? Or are you just pissed that you didn't catch it first?"

"I'm just saying that if one of us had caught it, House wouldn't have wasted one breath on it."

"What the hell are you talking about? All he said was 'well done'! It's not like he was fawning all over her like some lovesick puppy dog," Foreman shot back, his words pointed and laced with sarcasm.

Chase's scowl deepened and he tossed his files down on the table. "Fine. Whatever. You want to believe things aren't going to change around here, that's your prerogative. We'll see what you have to say in a week."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "The only change I'm hoping for is with you. Damn, House was less of a bastard than usual, but you've stepped right up to fill his shoes."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Foreman. I didn't see him telling her to go fetch and carry his clinical texts or run interference with Cuddy. No. He had her taking the patient's history and then doing all the procedures."

"Man, you are seriously wacked. It was her first day back! If you ask me, he had her doing all that to get back in the saddle again. But you go ahead and keep believing that it was some big plot to put her in the limelight. Just don't involve me in your conspiracy group. I'd like to keep my head, and my balls, thanks."

Chase snorted in disgust and shook his head. He was just gathering his jacket when House limped through the open door, satisfied look on his face.

"Leaving so soon, Chase?"

Foreman shot the younger doctor a warning glance and hoped it would have an effect.

"Patient's in recovery, paper work's done. Yes, I'm heading out."

House gave a curt nod. "Fine. See you bright and early tomorrow."

"As usual," Chase replied, managing to keep his feelings in check. He grabbed his gym bag and made a quick exit before House could say anything more.

After he was gone, House tilted his head towards the door with exaggerated expression. "So, did a koala climb up his ass and die, or is it just his time of the month?"

That remark got a brief chuckle out of Foreman.

"He'll get over it."

"He'd better. He's already screwed me once. It wouldn't take much for me to boot his Aussie ass to the curb," House said, all trace of humor, even sarcastic, gone.

"If you're looking for Cameron I think she's down in Cuddy's office signing one last form."

"Did I say I was looking for her?" House asked, although that was exactly what he'd been doing.

"No," Foreman said slowly. "I just assumed."

House cut in quickly. "Right. And you remember the old adage about assuming."

Foreman refrained from voicing his irritation. "Right. Sorry," he said shortly.

A quick nod of acceptance, and then House told him, "You were right. I was looking for her. But let's not start another rumor about that."

"Hey, as far as I'm concerned, once the patient is cured, we're off the clock, and your personal life is your business."

House looked at him thoughtfully, judging the truthfulness of his words and only slightly surprised to be met with a look of sincerity.

"Thanks," he said gruffly. "Have a good night."

"Will do, Dr. House. See you both in the morning." It was another assumption, but House didn't call him on it, in fact he only paused slightly and then set off again even faster, leaving Foreman behind with a sly grin on his face.

House returned to his office, went through the connecting door and scanned the area around Cameron's desk. Her pocketbook was slung over her chair and her keys were sitting next to her keyboard. He hadn't thought she'd leave without saying goodbye, but for some reason he'd needed that visual confirmation. He walked back through the door and sat down on the easy chair in the corner. His iPod was in his pocket and he put in the earphones and turned it on, scrolling through the songs until he hit an old jazz selection. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and tapped his fingers lightly against the armrest.

A few minutes later he felt a slight breeze as the air current shifted, and then Cameron was sweeping into the room, her labcoat billowing out behind her, hair tucked into a hastily fastened bun, arms full of charts. She looked like she'd never left. For just the briefest instant a panic unlike any he'd ever felt wrapped itself around House's heart. She turned and smiled at him and his heart started beating again. In that single second he'd thought that he was waking up from a dream. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"All done for the day?" he asked as he tucked the mp3 player back into his pocket.

"Yup," she replied, still smiling.

"What's with all the charts? You didn't work in the clinic today."

Cameron shrugged and balanced the folders against her hip. "Cuddy asked me to help with the charting."

House raised one eyebrow. "You're back one day and she already has you cleaning up after me?" he said. He knew immediately that those charts were the ones that he was supposed to be completing from his last shift at the clinic.

"I'm pretty sure she asked me because I'm the only one who can decipher your handwriting. Someone has to do it, and I don't mind."

He frowned and stood up, walking over to her and taking the files from her. "I mind. I'll do them myself."

The moment of silence that followed was uncomfortable, and Cameron was the one to break it.

"You never used to complain about someone else doing your grunge work. A month ago you probably would have left those on my desk yourself."

"Yeah, well, times change. I enjoy reliving the most annoying parts of my day now… makes me feel glad to be alive. You wouldn't want to deny me that, would you?"

She didn't answer and he followed her to her desk where she took off her lab coat and gathered up her things. "It felt good to be back," she said, contented smile back in place. "Today was a really good day."

"And just think. It isn't over yet," House quipped. "Do you want to go out to eat or come back to my place?"

The question was asked in a completely normal and easy-going way, as if going out together was something they had been doing for years rather than days. That fact seemed to startle him, in hindsight, and his face tightened up slightly while his mind wrapped around what his mouth had just done.

Cameron studiously avoided looking at him by searching through her pocketbook as if counting her credit cards and taking inventory of the single earrings tangled at the bottom of the bag were suddenly very important tasks that needed tending to.

"Actually," she said slowly, keeping with his light tone of voice, "I thought I'd just head home. It's been a long day."

It was as if she had answered him in another language, and House squinted a bit and one corner of his mouth slanted up in confusion before he gave himself a shake and settled his features into a semblance of affable nonchalance. "Right. Long day. Very true."

Cameron looked up then, hearing something in his voice that wasn't actually there, and yet was there even in its absence. "It's not you," she rushed to reassure him. "I just need to get my feet back under me. I need to spend a few days adjusting. To everything. I think you do too."

"Me? I'm perfectly content. Couldn't be contenter. Contentest person I know."

She smirked at him. "House, you just offered to do your own charting. That's not you. It's really, really sweet, but it's also strange and a little unnerving."

Strong fingers clenched around hard wood. If that little piss-ant had said something to Cameron he was going to wish he'd never left Sydney. "Are you saying that I need to treat you more like crap when we're at the hospital? Because it's not my fault you didn't give me any openings today. If you'd screwed up I might have been able to accommodate you."

"No… I know you won't have any problem doing that," she said with a sarcastic lilt. House still looked confused and a little irritated, and Cameron released a sigh. "I wanted you and I wanted to work here, and now it looks like I have them both," she said, attempting to explain. "I should be feeling great, but it makes me nervous." The smile gradually faded. "Like it won't last."

"Unfortunately I don't come with a lifetime guarantee," House said with a touch of bitterness.

"I know that," she countered. "I guess that's why I just need a little while to come to terms with everything. I need to feel like things are sort of back to normal here, and then I can put here and home together."

"And here Wilson accused me of being afraid of change." The bitterness was more pointed now, and Cameron heard it clearly.

"I'm sorry," she said, hoping that her eyes were saying what her words were obviously failing to convey.

His shoulders slumped and he leaned more heavily on his cane. Damn it. She was probably right. No one had said anything to him, but he had seen the looks flying from Chase, and he knew Cuddy would be keeping a hawk's eye on the department. They both needed to reclaim their old working relationship. It had been lop-sided and slightly dysfunctional, but it had worked. Damn her for being rational. That was supposed to be his job. And maybe that was the point. They both needed a few days to assume their old roles without fear of hurting each other.

The grumbling sound that rose from his chest was mixed with words that were all rushed together but seemed to be: "Fine, drive safe then. I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned around and headed for the door.

"Hey, wait up," Cameron called after him. "I never said you couldn't walk me to my car."

House angled his head back without actually turning it enough to see her. "You park farther away than I do," he snarked.

She laughed. "Fine. Then I'll walk you to your car," she said as she caught up with him.

They walked side by side without touching or talking. Down the hallway, around the corner, into the elevators. The steel doors slid shut and House used his cane to press the button for the underground garage. Cameron had slipped her hand into his before the car started its descent. By the time they reached the garage House had tightened his grip and decided not to let go until absolutely necessary.

* * *

Thursday night and Cameron stepped under the hot spray of her shower, surprised at how tired she was. She'd always thought that the phrase 'TGIF' was corny and overused, but she was developing a new appreciation for it. Her mouth tightened into a little pout, annoyed with her waning stamina. A couple of months off and now she felt like a first year intern. She hoped it wouldn't take as long to hit her stride this time as it had then. A distinct memory of surviving on coffee and Mountain Dew flashed through her mind. She was pretty sure that House wouldn't approve if she went back to such a diet. 

The warm water was perfect for easing her tense muscles and she let it sluice over her body long after she'd finished washing. With both hands braced against the tiles, and head drooping forward, she breathed deeply and let the feeling of relaxation seep into every pore. By the time she finally turned the water off her fingers had begun to wrinkle and she couldn't keep from giggling. It had been a long time since that had happened.

She grabbed her robe on the way out of the bathroom and shrugged into it as she crossed the hall and entered her bedroom. The bed was still neatly made from that morning, with her cotton pajamas bottoms laid across the foot of the bed along with a black t-shirt. She picked up the shirt and held it against her face for a long moment. It belonged to House, but she had managed to smuggle it out of his place after her last visit. His scent still lingered on it, but now it was mixed with her own. Spice and musk, tropical fruit and aftershave. Cameron smiled as she breathed it in, then dropped her robe and slipped the shirt over her head. It fell well below the sensual curve of her rear end, and she didn't really need the cotton pants, but she pulled them on anyway and then went back to the bathroom to hang up her robe and get the knots out of her hair.

Long dark hair slicked through her comb sending little droplets of water flying off to dot the mirror. Something else in the mirror caught her eye and she stopped for a minute and leaned forward, looking at her own reflection. Her eyes had always been a tricky shade; looking grey in some lights and deep blue in others, but it wasn't the color that held her attention now. It was the look within them. Just a subtle change really, and maybe it wasn't even there, but she swore she could see contentment in their depths.

It wasn't perfect contentment however, and she knew what was keeping that just out of reach. The week had sped by and work had been invigorating and challenging. She'd loved being back at the hospital. It had felt like old home week, with everything falling gradually back into place. House still pushed her just like always, and if he was a little bit more gentle when they were alone, well even that seemed natural. As natural as the way they walked out of the hospital each evening, hand-in-hand. No, work had been fine. The thing keeping her from being perfectly happy was that House wasn't behind her towel drying her hair and kissing the back of her neck.

She had only herself to blame for that. Internally she had made a deal with herself that she would go one week without him. One week of being perfectly professional and getting her bearings back at the hospital. Lips parted with a sigh. TGIF indeed.

Blinking, she stood up straight again and pulled the comb through one more time before picking up a small scarf and using it to tie her hair back. She knew it was still dripping damply against her shirt, but she wasn't in the mood to spend any more time on it. A quick look around the bathroom to make sure everything was put away and then she flicked off the light and headed towards the kitchen.

A sharp rap on her door froze her in her steps and after one more rap she pivoted quickly on her heel and hurried to the door. Only one thing sounded like that against her door.

"House," she breathed out his name in a rush.

He was standing there with cane in midair and a paper-bag in the other. Bright blue eyes scanned up and down her slender form. "You really do need to learn how to dry your own hair. You're dripping all over my shirt."

A slow grin spread across her face. "My shirt now. Finders keepers."

"Finders keepers? If I recall correctly, you found that shirt at my house. I think that equates to 'stealers keepers'. I should probably call the cops, but I may be willing to settle out of court."

Cameron raised her eyebrows. "Oh really?"

He held up the bag. "Yes. Have dinner with me and we'll just forget the whole nasty business."

How could she resist? She backed up and let him into the apartment then closed and locked the door behind him. He didn't miss the significance of that. He wouldn't be leaving until morning.

"I thought we agreed to take a little time apart," she said with only the mildest rebuke in her tone.

"Yeah, but we never actually settled on how little that time was going to be," House said with a lopsided grin that faded almost instantly. "Anyway, if I recall correctly, that was a rather one-sided agreement. I felt it was time to renegotiate, and it's always best to bring something to the bargaining table."

Cameron's grin widened into a warm smile. "Italian?" she guessed.

"From that little place by the river," House told her.

"I loved that place."

"I know."

His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile again and then he led the way to her kitchen. Cameron followed after him, glad that one of them had called an end to their enforced time apart. It had been a good idea, but it had served its purpose.

Within a few minutes they were both seated at the table scooping pasta, chicken, vegetables and creamy alfredo sauce out of styrofoam boxes. Freshly baked rolls tumbled out of wax paper, and the scent of minestrone soup wafted from a plastic container. There was a brief dueling of forks over the last piece of chicken, and Cameron had to slap House's hand away from her buttered roll.

"There's another one right there!" she said, pointing.

"I know, but this one's all buttery already," House argued.

Cameron rolled her eyes but pushed it towards him and picked up the other roll for herself. House chuckled as he brought it to his mouth.

"You're easy," he said around a bite of warm bread, forgetting for a second how that might sound.

The smug little look on her face told him he didn't have anything to worry about. "Oh, you'll see how easy I am after dinner," she said, and he had no doubt that he would be enjoying that experience immensely.

Conversation drifted from topic to topic, but kept returning to the hospital.

"I'm glad you convinced me to come back," Cameron said thoughtfully as they cleared away the take-out containers and china.

"Don't you mean 'tricked'?" House asked.

She gave him an exasperated look. "Okay, that too, but don't try it again."

The humor slipped from his face and he bent to kiss her cheek. "I won't," he said, not even sure if he would be able to stick to that promise but determined to at least try. "I brought a DVD," he said as he pulled away and went back to the table for the last of the dishes.

"Let me guess. The Best of General Hospital?"

"Very funny. No," he replied with a characteristic smirk. "American Choppers. Trust me. You'll love it."

Cameron shook her head and laughed before turning on the water and starting on the dishes.

* * *

House was actually right. She had really enjoyed the DVD. Something about fast cars and faster motorcycles always caught her interest. It was surprising really, because from the outside she certainly didn't look the type. She snuggled against House's side, with her feet tucked underneath her and imagined what it would feel like to be riding down the highway with her arms wrapped around his waist and the wind whipping past them, taking all of their inhibitions with it. 

"Cameron? Wake up. You can't sleep here on the sofa."

His soft voice roused her from a sleep she couldn't remember falling into. "Wha… what time is it?"

"Almost eleven," House answered. "You must be exhausted."

Now that her head was no longer tucked against his chest he was able to stand up and offer his hand down to her.

"Time for bed."

She blinked a few times and her senses returned to her. "You're not leaving, are you?" she asked as she took his hand.

"Nope. You already locked the door," he said with a wink. "No way for me to escape now."

He pulled her to her feet and the two of them walked down the hall to her bedroom. Cameron's sleep-addled limbs caused her to limp nearly as much as House, and she was just getting her balance back when they reached their destination. She let out a long breath as she crawled between the cool sheets and rolled over to face House. She wasn't watching him, but she liked to be able to open her eyes and see him there.

"Looks like I'm going to have to see how easy you are another time, Rip Van Winkle," he teased as he joined her under the sheets.

Her eyes were closed but she smiled an apology. "Sorry about that. Raincheck?"

"Deal." He placed a soft kiss on her lips as if to seal it, and the touch of Cameron's hand coming up to rub his cheek almost made him forget that she needed her sleep.

"Thank you for staying tonight."

"Not exactly a hardship."

"I know, but thanks anyway."

House watched as her eyes opened, revealing her gratitude.

"You've been having nightmares."

"Just a couple."

"You should have called."

"That sort of would have defeated the purpose of maintaining our distance."

He stared at her unflinchingly. "Next time, call."

Her soft fingers were a paradox against his rough stubble as she followed a line from jaw to chin. "I will."

"Good." He kissed her again, the matter settled, and Cameron rolled over and turned out the light.

His arm around her stomach came as a surprise and she stroked it lightly. "I missed you too," she said quietly, and then her eyes drifted shut on a dream of wind and speed and warmth.


	23. Chapter 23

_A nice long chapter. I recently looked at the 'stats' for this story and am just AMAZED by how many people are reading it (assuming it's not just the same few people rereading over and over again ;-) ) Thank you all for your attention, and I hope you enjoy this chapter... it ends with slightly less resolution than I usually prefer, but I will get the next one out as quickly as possible._

Chapter 23

Coffee. He was pouring coffee into his red mug and searching for the sugar. He kept picking up the little packets and squinting at them but he couldn't seem to make out the letters. They were all backwards or sideways or something, and he kept getting distracted and putting them down only to sip the black coffee and grimace before struggling to tell the difference between the sugar and the dreaded Equal. Where was Cameron? She always knew which was which. Damnit, why wasn't she there yet? She was supposed to be at work. Another whiff of coffee floated into his nostrils and he breathed deeply. The office was getting darker, and now one of the walls was missing. Were they doing construction? A hand was on his shoulder and he grunted and turned around but no one was there although he still felt pressure on his arm, and then things were getting lighter again and he heard Cameron calling his name. He turned around, looking for her anxiously and then his eyes opened and he was awake.

Cameron was standing at the side of the bed with two mugs in her hand. She was wrapped in a light robe and her hair was free to slide against her silk-clad shoulders. House was still half-asleep so he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he was probably almost smiling.

"Coffee?" she asked as House pushed himself up to lean against the headboard.

"Thanks." His voice was rough from sleep and he cleared his throat as he took the mug she was offering. "What time?"

"It's only six o'clock. Still pretty early," she answered, walking back around to her side of the bed and climbing in to sit cross-legged beside him, the edges of her robe barely covering her knees.

"Didn't you sleep well?" House was a little surprised that she had clearly been awake for some time. Usually he was the first to wake, the need for vicodin rousing him from even the deepest sleep.

His concern was subtle, but Cameron recognized and cherished it. "I slept fine. I have an alarm on my watch and it woke me up. I know you have to go home to get fresh clothes so I figured I'd make some coffee to wake you up with."

"Good call," he replied, taking another long sip and enjoying the burn down his throat.

Cameron watched him out of the corner of her eye and took a drink of her own coffee, licking her top lip afterwards and tracing the mug's PPTH logo with her thumb. She took another swallow before speaking again.

"That movie you mentioned yesterday is starting tonight," she said. "If you're interested."

A sly grin crept onto House's face. "So the waiting period is definitely over, eh?"

His look of amusement was clearly at her expense but she took it well. A slight spark lit in her eyes and she grinned at him.

"Definitely."

"Another good call."

"So… movies?"

"I'll even buy you popcorn."

"Extra butter," she warned.

"Hey, they're your arteries." He shifted slightly as he spoke, and a stab of pain ran from thigh to hip.

He didn't think his expression had changed, but Cameron's did. Her eyebrows drew together and she reached into her pocket and pulled out his pills.

"They fell out of your jacket when I was picking it up," she explained as she handed them to him.

He gave a little nod of thanks and popped the lid off with his thumb. When he did a quick inventory he was surprised to see more pills than he expected. He'd had the bottle for over a week and he still had a number of pills left.

"Something wrong?" Cameron asked when he didn't immediately toss back two of the pain killers.

"No… nothing's wrong," House answered, palming a single pill and swallowing it down with a mouthful of sweet coffee.

House reached across his body to put the bottle on the nightstand, giving it another little rattle before he set it down. When he turned back towards Cameron she was taking a sip of coffee and looking quietly serene. It was a good look for her and House wanted to see more of it. He let his hand drop to her knee and squeezed it gently, stroking the soft material that covered it. When Cameron settled her palm over his fingers he gave another squeeze.

"Good morning," she said happily. "I forgot to say that before."

His lungs filled with a deep breath of spring air and coffee. He didn't smile, but the tiny wrinkles around his eyes seemed to smooth out, and he wondered if plastic surgeons knew that coffee in bed could be as good as Botox.

* * *

"She's sixteen, she's got chestpain, she's got muscle weakness and she passed out in class. Let's hear it, people. Differential diagnosis."

After a quick shower and change of clothes at his place, House had still managed to arrive at the hospital before everyone but Cameron. She was already sitting at her desk when he got there, and she stood up waving a patient chart like a flag as soon as he walked into the department. They had a new patient.

"She's also at least fifteen pounds underweight," Chases said dismissively. She's got an eating disorder and it's catching up with her. Send her up to psych."

House wrote 'anorexic' on the white board as a possibility and turned back to the other doctors.

"Thyroid condition?" Foreman tossed out.

"I'm telling you, I've seen girls like this before. We're wasting our time."

"That's what you said about Jessica Simms too," Cameron shot back. "What's with you and adolescent weight issues? First a girl's just too fat, now a girl's just too thin. There are any number of reasons why she could be having these symptoms. Pulmonary embolus, pericarditis, mitral valve prolapse, esophogitis… Should I go on?"

Chase stared at her with his mouth set in a perpetual scowl and said nothing.

"Right," House said, quickly moving things along. "Let's run the standard blood tests and get her ready for an echocardiogram and chest x-ray. Cameron, draw the blood. Foreman, go find her mother. Chase, call down and get her set for the other tests." House tossed his marker onto the table, gave everyone another stern look and then limped quickly out of the room.

Foreman pushed his chair back from the table, the casters clicking slightly along the linoleum floor. Cameron gathered up their new patient's file and stood up, ready to head down and get the necessary supplies to do the blood draws. Only Chase remained in his chair looking annoyed and crabby.

He swiveled his chair in Foreman's direction and muttered, "Well that wasn't too surprising. What'd I tell you? And it hasn't even been a week."

Cameron was half-way across the room when he spoke, but she still heard him and her stomach tightened into a Gordian knot as a flushed feeling swept through her limbs. She ground her teeth together and prepared to take another step towards the door, but suddenly she was spinning around and marching back to the conference table.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" she asked heatedly, words tumbling over each other on their way out of her mouth. "Are you saying that Dr. House is only treating this girl because of what I said? Are you trying to say that because of what's happening between us outside the hospital things have changed inside? Are you implying that we've been anything other than professional since I came back?"

Chase was taken aback by the force behind Cameron's speech, but rather than stifling his antagonism it inflamed it and he stood up to face her. "Well I admit House probably hasn't had such a good piece of ass in years, but I bet he didn't have to pay as much when he picked it up off the streets."

The sound of Cameron's hand striking Chase's face reverberated in the large room. Foreman was on his feet about ready to beat the other doctor to a pulp, but Cameron quickly held up a hand to stop him. Chase touched his cheek gingerly and glared at Cameron.

"I'm a damn good doctor and don't you ever, EVER even hint that I'm here for any other reason ," Cameron hissed. Her anger had flared but as she stared at him her expression shifted and she shook her head. "We used to be friends. We used to have a really good time together. What happened?" she asked sadly.

Chase just shrugged his shoulders and stared, rubbing the sting and hoping there wasn't a mark.

Cameron shook her head again. "Let's just agree to treat each other with respect. That's all I'm asking for. Dr. House doesn't play favorites, and I don't have time to play games with you." She didn't wait for a reply before walking away.

The silence in the room was as charged as a high tension wire and Foreman took a step in Chase's direction.

"You going to have a go at me now?"

"No, man. Cam can protect herself." He took another step. "But if I were you, I'd adjust my attitude, because I doubt if House'll take kindly to your bitching. Maybe you should check yourself into the psych ward and get yourself some damn therapy." He snorted in disgust before turning and heading out the door.

Chase was still clinging to his righteous indignation as he slowly made his way out of the conference room only to be stopped by a tall man with a cane blocking the door.

"Dr. House," he said cordially.

"Dr. Chase," House's words dripped with acid and Chase's petulant look returned.

"Oh, so she went running right to you. That figures."

House took a step forward, forcing Chase to take a step back. "Actually, no. She left here and didn't even see me. You see, after years of avoiding Dr. Cuddy, I've gotten pretty damn good at appearing invisible. No, she… and I assume you mean Dr. Cameron," he said sarcastically, "she didn't have to tell me anything. I heard it for myself."

"Yeah… well…"

"Oh, that's a very good defense. I'll have to remember that one the next time I get called before a review board."

Annoyance bubbled quickly to the surface. "I don't need to defend myself. I didn't say anything that half the hospital isn't going to be thinking."

House was so close now that his hot breath fanned over Chase's face. "That's where you're wrong, Dr. Chase. No one else in this hospital is going to think anything because there's nothing to think. Dr. Cameron is an asset to this department, and you should be jumping for joy that having her here tends to keep me on an even keel. You think I favor her? Wait until she makes a mistake and you'll see how wrong you are. But you know what, Chase? Maybe I do treat her better. Any idea why that might be?"

Chase scowled but held his tongue at the clearly rhetorical question.

"Could it be because she didn't go around trying to undermine me? Maybe it's because instead of scrambling for an underhanded way to keep her job she thought up a way for all of you to stay. Or perhaps it's because she fucking knows what she's doing and she doesn't let her pissy mood distract her from her job."

"I've already…"

"Right. You've already apologized for trying to stab me in the back. Sorry if I'm not the forgive and forget type. But you think I was miserable to you after Vogler? You say one more fucking word to Cameron and you'll see how miserable I can be. You'll be down in the clinic for every irritable bowel rectal exam and yeast infection that comes through the door. I don't know what the hell I did to you that I haven't done to Foreman or Cameron, but you'd better get over it, because if you don't, I can guarantee that you will be wearing your ass as a hat. I see that Cameron stopped with one slap." House glared and his fists tightened. "I won't."

He waited to see if Chase would say anything, but the Aussi just stood there, expression changing from enmity to disgust to resignation.

"Good. I see we understand each other. Now get to work."

House stepped aside to let Chase leave and only then did he relax, leaning on his cane and settling his breathing. He walked from conference room to office and on through the door into Cameron's area. Her light perfume lingered in the air and the smell calmed him further. Damn, he was glad she was back.

* * *

Cameron never mentioned her little conversation with Chase, and neither did House. He did catch himself looking at her with shades of pride and respect in his gaze, but his lanky body was safely obscured behind a plant at the time, and Cameron never noticed him. Chase wisely kept his distance from both of them and his mouth shut. It was a particularly good move on his part since House's hand was feeling twitchy and it wouldn't have taken much for the cranky doctor to mistake a blond head for a lacrosse ball.

Two days and a very tiring weekend later, none of Cameron's diagnoses ended up being the correct one, but it wasn't anorexia either. Eventually House had pinpointed an obscure thyroid gland abnormality and the girl showed improvement after only a few hours of treatment. House and Cameron had been either too busy or too exhausted to think about anything but sleep during their brief periods away from the hospital, but somehow they had ended up in the same bed two out of three nights. All they did was hold hands and sleep but they both felt content even when their dueling pagers woke them.

After the correct diagnosis and pats on the back from the grateful parents Cuddy magnanimously gave House and his staff the remainder of the afternoon off. It would have been more impressive if it hadn't been an extremely slow Monday with no real problem cases to speak of, but it was still a nice gesture. Naturally House tried to downplay it by insulting her blouse, the hospital and the human population in general, but Cuddy was so used to it that it the words slid off easily and barely grazed her ears.

Chase was the first to beat a hasty retreat, followed quickly by Foreman. Cameron took her time organizing the files, gathering her things and waiting to see if House would come and find her. Her attempts at subtlety had always been a little shy of the mark. Luckily House had little patience for subtleties.

"Late lunch or early dinner?" he asked as he entered the office.

Cameron looked up and the corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. The fact that he just assumed that she would say yes to one or the other amused her. She'd always known that he wouldn't be interested in playing stupid romantic games.

"It's three thirty already."

"Early dinner it is," House announced with exaggerated cheerfulness.

"I need to go home and change," she replied, smiling at his good mood.

"Well go, go, go," his words were accented by his snapping fingers. "I'll pick you up at five."

Cameron chuckled and threw her pocketbook across her shoulder. "It's a good thing I'm used to your bossiness."

House caught her hand tightly within his as she brushed past him. "That's what happens when you fall for your boss," he said slyly.

"I guess you're right," she said, as smirked up at him and squeezed his hand, knowing better than to stand on her toes and kiss him despite the fact that her body was telling her to do just that. "But make it quarter past five. I want to wash my hair."

A quick nod from him and then he released her hand and watched her walk out of the office. He suddenly felt very much like a figurehead.

One of the benefits of leaving early was that Cameron was able to beat the traffic. She arrived home at just past four thirty, with plenty of time to shower, change and get ready for her date with House. She had to smile as she thought about that. Date. It seemed so funny to call them that, almost as strange as thinking of him as her 'boyfriend'.

She dropped her pocketbook on the chair in the living room and then noticed that the message light on her answering machine was blinking. She'd spoken to her parents just the day before, and if it was the hospital she would have been paged and not called. She's just left House and he probably would have paged or called her cell phone, so it couldn't be him. That left telemarketers and similar people she had no interest in talking to, but she pushed the button on the machine anyway.

"Hello Dr. Cameron, this is Donna with Dr. Paulson's office. We're able to fit you in Wednesday at 2:30 for your consultation. Please give us a call if that isn't convenient." Donna then left a telephone number and hung up after a cheerful goodbye.

Dr. Paulson. She knew that name. Her doctor had even recommended him. Had he made an appointment for her? Cameron stared at the phone for a minute before picking up the phone and dialing the plastic surgeon's office.

"Yes, this is Allison Cameron," she said after the initial pleasantries were out of the way. "You left a message about an appointment on Wednesday? Did my doctor schedule it?"

"Ah, yes. Dr. Wilson came up and arranged that. We're normally booked up months in advance, but we managed to shuffle a few appointments around. Is the time not good? We've actually had a cancellation on Friday as well if that suits you better."

Dr. Wilson? Why would he-- Cameron's thoughts ground to a halt but she had the presence of mind to answer the woman on the other end of the phone.

"No… no, Wednesday is fine," she said, automatically.

"Good. Then we'll see you then. Have a nice evening, Dr. Cameron."

"Thanks," she replied, a hollowness in her voice that couldn't be blamed entirely on the poor phone connection.

She hung up, carefully set the phone back in its cradle and then slumped down into the easy chair. Her face was screwed up into at least five emotions, the most prominent being confusion, sadness and worry. The shock-induced nausea was fading quickly, but it left a feeling of emptiness in its place. She knew that Wilson hadn't just decided to call a plastic surgeon out of the blue. House had told him to do it.

She still couldn't quite think and goosebumps followed the flush of heat that raced from her head to her toes. Why would he want her to see Paulson? Well that was actually pretty obvious. He wanted her scar removed, and he wanted it done as soon as possible. Not only that, but he'd gone behind her back and even talked to Dr. Wilson about it. Did it bother him that much? It just didn't make sense. He was the one who'd told her that it didn't matter to him. He was the one who touched it so gently and placed delicate kisses along the healing skin.

Cameron closed her eyes and then snapped them open, looking at the clock on the VCR. It was almost four-thirty and she didn't have any appetite at all. She picked up the phone again and called House's cell phone. She'd say she was just too tired. She'd say she was coming down with a headache. She'd say she didn't want to get sick from letting herself get run-down. Then she'd close with a sexy little joke and he'd never notice that her voice was a little high and her words a little too fast.

The phone felt very heavy in her hand after speaking to House, and she let it slip from her fingers and onto the chair as she stood up. She still wanted to take a shower… a long one… and she hoped the hot water heater would be up to the challenge. After shedding her clothes carelessly onto her bedroom floor she walked into the bathroom and stepped straight into the tub. She'd turned the water on before undressing and it was just a few degrees below scalding. Steam billowed up around her and the water flowed down her face, neck, hair, body, to pool at her feet before swirling down the drain. The wonderful thing about showers was that it was impossible to tell the difference between the water and tears. Even Cameron couldn't be sure how many squeezed past her eyelids to join the rivulets cascading over her cheeks.

Her shower lasted even longer than she'd planned, and when she finally got out she had to open the door and the window to release the build-up of steam in the room. Even the blue-painted walls were damp with condensation. Her silk robe was on the back of the door and she pulled it on but didn't bother tying it. Instead she used the side of her hand to clear the fog from the mirror and then took a long look at herself and the slowly healing wound on her chest.

A pink circular mark, slightly puckered around the edges, marked the bullet wound now, the skin taut and new. It would fade in time until it wasn't very noticeable and could be overlooked as a childhood injury or a mole removal. The long scar down the middle would never be so easily dismissed. It was healing nicely, the ridge where the skin joined no longer as prominent, and the tiny puncture marks from the stitches nearly gone, but the wound itself was still very much in evidence. The skin had turned from dark pink, to light pink, and now it was fading out to a shiny white, in contrast to the light peach tone of the rest of her chest.

House had told her she was more than a fucking scar. He'd touched it gently that night and every night they were together. It was only recently that he'd stopped placing kisses along its length, and that was due as much to Cameron's actions as anything else. She had taken to shifting around when he paid too much attention to it, and claiming his mouth with her own in order to distract him. Was that it? Was that why he'd made the appointment? Cameron rubbed her eyes and then pulled her robe tightly closed without looking at herself again.

It was still very bright out and she didn't bother with any lights as she wandered back into the living room and lowered herself to the sofa. She had taken the shower to clear her head, but it hadn't worked. Logically there were two possibilities but logic was difficult to apply to emotions and Cameron had an especially hard time with that. Slender fingers rubbed little circles at her temples and she closed her eyes.

Option one was the possibility that she didn't want to think about. It was the one that would require her to rethink everything she currently believed. Basically, option one was that House was just as big a masochist as he'd tried to appear, and his recent niceness had really just been a ploy. Yes, he'd been upset and maybe made sentimental by her injuries, but at heart he was really a callus manipulator and as the sentiment faded he realized that he wanted the perfect package she'd offered to begin with, and not some damaged irregular.

She wanted to dismiss the idea immediately but her heart kept seizing unexpectedly when her brain sent little reminders about his early behavior around her and everyone else. He could be a real bastard. He'd lied. He'd snuck around. He'd been harsh and even brutal in his honesty. She'd fallen for him not despite all those things but because she thought she could see who he was behind all of those actions, and she often even admired him for them. That was why she couldn't accept option one. She couldn't accept that she'd been so wrong, and she couldn't accept that he didn't really care for her despite his inability to say so. She couldn't believe that he'd do anything to hurt her.

Option two wasn't much better. That one meant that House thought so little of her self-image that he'd decided to try and 'fix' her… exactly as he'd always accused her of wanting to do to him. It said almost as much about her as it did about him. Had she really acted so vain that he'd imagine plastic surgery was the only solution? Did he think she was shallow and superficial? Those were words she'd called herself when she'd been at her lowest, but they were words she'd never wanted him to associate with her. It had taken her weeks to accept it, but she knew now that even if the scar was gone tomorrow she'd still be damaged. The nightmares would still be waiting for her in the dark. It wasn't something that could be fixed so easily and it made her angry and hurt to think that House might believe that it was. Even her feelings about the scar itself had changed over time. Yes, most of the time it made her remember that night, but it also reminded her of House, and the fact that he had been there to save her. She knew it was unforgivably sappy and sentimental, but she couldn't help it. Her rational mind wanted to believe that if a relationship had been in the cards for them then it would have happened with or without the attack, but she couldn't deny the fact that it had been the attack that had brought them closer together.

The remote control was on the coffee table and she reached for it and then curled up in the corner of the sofa. She didn't want to think anymore. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out which option was true. In her heart she already knew. House wouldn't hurt her on purpose but he seemed to have a knack for doing it accidentally.

* * *

The door was open. Dr. Wilson's door was always open. Nevertheless, Cameron paused in the doorway and rapped on the doorjamb. The metal support made a low, hollow sound and hurt her knuckles.

Wilson was seated at his desk and he looked up, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, then quickly relaxing as he motioned her inside. "Dr. Cameron, what's House need this time?" He wasn't sure why he asked that when he knew she wasn't there about anything to do with a patient. Years of dealing with cancer patients had honed his ability to read expressions and Cameron's screamed 'personal business' loud and clear.

"House didn't actually send me," she said, just as he'd anticipated. She considered sitting down but decided she was better off standing. "He asked you to make me an appointment with Dr. Paulson, didn't he?" she said, the words not really a question.

Shit. He'd known damn well that listening to House about that was huge mistake, and man was he ever right. His right hand came up automatically to scratch the back of his neck while he searched for the right words.

"Umm… yeah… he knows that Paulson and I play racquetball together. Guess he figured I'd have some pull getting you in." He watched her impassive eyes as he spoke. "Damn, I knew it was a bad idea," his cool innocent act fell apart and he shook his head.

Standing was too hard. Cameron dropped into the chair opposite Wilson's desk and he felt like an asshole as he watched her expression waver and then fall. There weren't any tears, and her chin didn't even quiver, but the line of her mouth, the tiny crinkle over the bridge of her nose, and the look in her eyes gave away everything.

"May I ask if he told you why he wanted it?" she said, still keeping her voice tight and as professional as possible.

Wilson looked at her, slightly perplexed. "Why he wanted it?"

Bright white teeth pulled at a carefully made-up lip. "Yeah," she said, her carefully prepared speech failing her. "Was it because he didn't want to look at me anymore or--"

"Shit! No!" Wilson cut her off and stood up, swiftly moving to close the door and then sitting down in the chair next to hers. "Allison, no," he said softer, shaking his head. "He may be a stupid jackass, but he loves you. He's got some idea that you want the surgery and I think he just decided that if it was something you wanted then he was going to make sure you got it."

Cameron's breath caught at the easy way Wilson was able to throw around the word 'love'. Did he know that House had never said that word to her? Was he really so certain that House felt that way?

"Look, Cameron, you need to talk to House about this."

She swallowed and her nails dug into her thighs. "I know I do. I just wanted to be properly armed for whatever he threw at me."

Wilson was surprised at his current level of irritation with his best friend. How long had Cameron been worrying about this? He was also mad at himself. He should have known better than to go along with it. He was like Ethel to House's Lucy and they were always acting out some tragic version of the black and white classic, but in painful living color.

"Blame it on hormones or out of control emotions or something," Wilson said. "God knows he hasn't dealt with either of those in a long time. It was a damn stupid idea but he did it because he cares."

The corners of her mouth tilted up slightly. "He has a really strange way of showing it."

"Yeah, that's House all right," Wilson said with exasperation. He looked at Cameron closely, reading her face again. "Do you want the surgery?"

"It's really too early," she hedged and then answered honestly, "I don't know. I used to think so but I'm not sure any more. It won't really change things." She wasn't about to admit the other reasons that made her sound like a Harlequin romance heroine.

"If you want it removed then keep the appointment. Don't let an argument with House change your mind," Wilson told her.

A weak smile curved over her lips but didn't touch her eyes. "Thanks. I didn't mean to get you involved."

Wilson chuckled derisively. "A little too late for that, I'm afraid. I should be apologizing to you."

She shrugged. "He's your best friend," she said simply as she stood up. "And he's pretty hard to deny."

"You've got that right," Wilson admitted, standing up and walking her to the door. "Remember what I said, okay? He didn't mean to hurt you."

"Thanks, Dr. Wilson. I was hoping that was true."

He impulsively reached out and squeezed her arm. "Trust me. It's true."


	24. Chapter 24

_I promised I'd get this chapter out fast, and I aim to please! This was actually a rather difficult chapter to write as there was a lot of emotion going on which is always a challenge to get just right. I still have my doubts as to how well I did, so if there are areas for improvement, let me know. You all know I rely on your feedback as a guide to how well I'm writing! You all rock :)_

Chapter 24

If you worked at the hospital long enough, you learned all of its secrets. You discovered that the pharmacy closet in the fifth floor geriatrics department was the best place to have sex standing up. You got invited to the high-stakes rooftop poker game where pagers were used to prop open the door and the smoking members of the janitorial nightshift were treated the same as the head of pediatrics. You also learned that the best time to visit the cafeteria for morning coffee was nine forty-five.

Chairs and cots were uncomfortable and the family members forced to sleep in them were always up at the crack of dawn. They stumbled into the brightly-lit foodcourt in search of coffee that would only make them more anxious and donuts that they could eat on the way back to the wards. Most of the nurses arrived by seven-thirty and were gone by eight. The doctors followed soon thereafter. That left only the visitors and they marched through with flowers under their arms and giftbags filled with candy that only other visitors would eat and books that many patients were too sick to read. Visiting hours started at nine-thirty and so those conscientious were on their way to the elevators by nine forty-five.

Wilson arrived at nine fifty. Telling patients that they were in remission was one of the greatest pleasures of his job and the opportunity came far less frequently than he wished. He invariably celebrated with a large cappuccino and a cheese danish. He paid the cashier and walked towards the door, shoes clapping against the tile floor, hot coffee warming the palm of his hand.

He turned abruptly and headed in the opposite direction, towards another exit. The sound of his footsteps was louder and faster as he moved quickly across the open space.

"Wilson!"

Damnit.

"Wilson!" House shouted again, ignoring the fact that he was shouting across the room and attracting the attention of the few people scattered at the tables. One woman dared to look at him with an annoyed expression and he sneered at her and stuck out his tongue.

Wilson slowly turned around and waited for House to catch up to him. "You called?" he said dryly.

"Cameron."

Damnit again.

"Huh?"

House looked perturbed. "Have you seen Dr. Cameron?" he said as if his previous one word demand had been completely obvious.

"Umm… She's in the hospital," he said hesitantly, starting towards the door again and hoping that House would stay behind.

No such luck.

"I know that," House huffed. "I saw her things on her desk. I want to know if you've spoken to her. She's not in the lab or the department, and she called and cancelled our…" His mouth snapped shut as he thought of a better way to phrase that. "She called last night and said she wasn't feeling well."

House knew he was probably being ridiculous. Cameron had just said she was feeling run-down and getting a headache. Unfortunately being exceedingly good at what he did prevented House from ever taking an illness lightly. It had been a month since Cameron's surgery but there were still plenty of things that could go wrong and he'd spent the morning with them running through his mind alphabetically.

The two doctors were almost to the clinic and Wilson was looking for a way to escape when House swung in front of him and planted his cane on Wilson's foot.

"Have you seen her?" he demanded. "Is she up in cardiology?"

Wilson was startled by the look in House's eyes. The man was really worried. Wilson folded for the second time in two hours. He was very glad that he'd only joined that late night poker game twice.

"Yeah, I talked to her," he said. "She's perfectly fine, but you're going to need to start coming up with a good reason for your dumbass actions."

House's eyes shot open and he directed Wilson into an empty exam room. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that Paulson's office called her, told her that I made the appointment, and not surprisingly she can put two and two together. She was in my office this morning."

The expression on House's face had gone from baffled to pissed-off in record time. "Well what the hell were they doing calling her? You were supposed to make the appointment and tell me about it or at least tell them to say that her own doctor arranged it. Damn it!"

Wilson was amazed that House was managing to shift the blame to someone other than himself, and his astonishment showed. "Well gee, Greg, you didn't fill me in on the rest of your flawless plan to get your girlfriend under the knife!"

House glared at him. "Just tell me what she said."

An image of Cameron, looking brave and hurt flashed into Wilson's mind and was juxtaposed against an indignant looking House. Wilson shook his head, feeling much more sympathetic for the young doctor.

"You really want to know?" he asked, then quickly went on. "The first thing wanted to know was if you wanted her to get the surgery because you were sick of looking at her." Wilson had put his coffee and food on the counter and now both fists were on his hips.

"What?"

"Yeah, that's right, House. Remember when I told you it wasn't a good idea? Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

Was this what it felt like to get punched in the gut? It had been a few years, but House thought the sensation was amazingly similar.

"Well what did you tell her?"

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. Why did he always end up feeling sorry for the guy? Was it the eyes? Yeah. Definitely the eyes.

"I told her she was wrong, but that she should talk to you."

Leaning against the examination table, House continued to stare straight ahead at Wilson. "And now she's avoiding me."

"Or maybe she's doing her job," Wilson suggested. "You know, that little thing we're supposed to do while we're on the premises?"

A snide look popped onto House's face automatically. "I happen to be scheduled in the clinic, so I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Well goodie for you. I'm supposed to be three floors up, so if you're done with me?" He motioned towards the door, which was currently blocked by House's outstretched legs and cane.

House stopped leaning against the table and stood up straight. "Yeah, you can go." He opened the door and followed Wilson towards the elevators, standing with him while the red numbers lit up in reverse sequence. "Hey," he said as the doors opened. "How upset was she?"

Wilson shrugged and tried not to give too much away. "She was pretty upset, Greg. I have a feeling you might actually have to apologize this time."

Once the elevator doors closed, House stalked back to the nurses' station and quickly picked up the phone. He punched in a few numbers, grabbed a patient chart and went to cure the latest stuffy nose while he waited.

It was a short wait, and he'd only seen two patients when Cameron rushed into the exam room where he was just writing a prescription for a man with an ear infection. She looked at him quizzically while he showed the man out with nary a sarcastic jibe.

"You said it was a minor emergency?" she said when he closed the door. "Where's the patient? I was helping Dr. Washington with an MRI.

"I didn't realize you were farming out your services," he said blandly. "That would explain why I couldn't find you this morning."

Cameron glanced at the chart in her hands rather than House's face. "Well we didn't have a patient and I wanted to keep busy."

"You wanted to keep away from me."

House had dropped the sarcastic tone and Cameron looked up, taking a deep breath when she saw the vulnerable look on his face. Obviously he'd spoken to Wilson and now he wanted to talk.

"I guess I did," she admitted.

"Cameron…"

"We can't talk about this here," she stopped him from continuing.

"Why not? No one's around. We've got the room to ourselves."

"Because we're at work, House. We can't get into this now."

"Oh, now you tell me," he said with an exaggerated drawl. "I guess I was thrown by the rest of the personal discussions we've had here… most started by you, I might add."

Her throat tightened and he could see it and mentally slapped himself.

"Cameron, I didn't mean it like that."

"No. You're right, but that was then and this is now. I came back because we both agreed that we could keep our relationship separate from work. We need to stick to that agreement. I need to stick to that agreement. Because if I don't, I'm just going to get upset and I can't work when I'm upset. I just can't. So please, just drop it for now, okay?"

Damn. He could see that her eyes were getting that shine to them that signaled tears, and he really didn't want to see them, especially not here. She was right. When had she started being right about so many things?

"Okay," he agreed. "But we need to talk. I need to talk. After work. My place?"

She nodded.

"I've got clinic hours all day unless a patient comes in. I get sprung at five."

"I'll meet you there at five thirty."

"Good. Good," he repeated as she turned to leave. He reached out and stopped her and dropped an unexpected kiss on her cheek. "Don't be upset."

"I'm trying," she replied, and then she left and closed the door on her way out, robbing him of the pleasure of watching her until she was out of sight.

* * *

At exactly five-thirty, Cameron found herself walking from her car to House's townhouse, hands clenched in nervous anticipation, body held stiffly erect. She didn't have to knock on his door because it swung open as she walked up the steps towards it. House stood to the side holding it and she stepped inside. Neither of them said anything and the sound of the door closing seemed overly-loud. They both moved to the sofa but only Cameron sat down. House paced a few steps beyond it and then paced back the other way.

"So did you help out in the immunology department all day?" he asked. He was making conversation… something he hated and usually refused to do.

"Yes. They were short-staffed. Dr. Chen is out on maternity leave." Cameron sighed and followed House's lanky form as he paced. She hated small-talk almost as much as he did. "Why did you get me that appointment?" she asked while hoping that her voice sounded stronger than it felt. "Dr. Wilson said--"

House wheeled around and thumped his cane hard against the floor. "I am not sick of looking at you!" he said forcefully. He took a breath and collected himself as he saw the startled look flash in Cameron's eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to shout."

Cameron was quiet for a second. "Dr. Wilson yelled when I asked that too," she told him. "He said you're just a jackass."

A humorless smile turned up House's lips. "He's probably right."

"So if you're not sick of looking at me, then you must think I'm sick of looking at myself," she reasoned.

He hesitated. This seemed like a trap and he wasn't sure how to answer. "Aren't you?" he said slowly.

Her eyes wavered and she dropped her gaze.

"You really think I'm that vain?"

"You won't let me touch it anymore. You cover yourself up as soon as possible. I know that it bothers you and I wanted to help. That's all I wanted. I would have explained it all to you if the morons at Paulson's office hadn't fucked everything up."

Cameron looked at him again, searching his face for answers. Everything he'd said was true, but it just went so much deeper than that. "Of course it bothers me, but that doesn't mean I want it gone."

House threw his hands into the air and slumped down onto the opposite end of the sofa. "Well then you're going to have to explain it to me because if someone told me tomorrow that I could have my damn leg back, I'd be administering the anesthesia to myself."

"But no one told me anything," Cameron said, sadness and anger warring in her voice. "You did it all on your own. You went to Wilson and told him all about your poor girlfriend crying into her pillow over her ruined body, and you tried to arrange to have everything fixed, but you never asked me. I forced myself to believe that you weren't really trying to hurt me, but it wasn't easy."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," House insisted, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. Why the hell hadn't he listened to Wilson? More to the point, why hadn't Wilson smacked him upside the head with his own cane?

"Taking away the scar won't fix me, if that's what you think."

"You're not broken," House argued.

"Maybe I'm not broken, but I'm not exactly whole either, and I don't know when I will be. I know that's not what you thought you were signing up for."

"I told you, I don't give a fuck about you waking me. If you need to call me every night, I'll be there and I'm the one who told you not to push yourself or punish yourself for how you feel."

His vehement outburst unnerved her. "I know that," she said, feeling her anger ebb away. Memories of her late-night calls to House flitted through her mind. She'd never said much, and neither had he, but just listening to him breathe had been enough to calm her down and the sound of his piano had become a touchstone for her. He'd never made her feel like she was bothering him.

House leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the handle of his cane. "I'm not trying to fix you," he said, thinking about the times that he'd accused her of wanting him as her project. He'd been heartless and almost cruel about it. Nothing like having the tables turned to realize what a bastard you'd been in the past. "The scar seemed to bother you, and I wanted to get you something that would help. That's all. No hidden agendas. No personal motivations. I know that thoughtfulness on my part is a foreign concept. Not too surprising that I failed miserably at one of my first attempts."

The sofa cushions released low squeaking noises as Cameron slid along the smooth leather until she was beside House, their warm legs touching from knee to hip. "I think you've had more success than failure so far. She bent her head in his direction and he looked up, seeing the flash of silver in her hair.

"You wore it today?" he asked, knowing that she had to have been upset with him since the previous evening.

"Just because I was upset doesn't mean I didn't want to feel close to you. It reminded me that you've never tried to hurt me." She shrugged slightly. "Well, not recently anyway," she corrected, with a wry look, remembering a few painful conversations from before she'd quit.

"In my own fucked up way I was trying to protect you back then," House said by way of apology.

"And yourself," Cameron suggested.

"Yeah. That too."

They sat quietly, House staring down at his cane, Cameron's eyes unfocused but aimed towards the piano. Eventually House sat upright and looked over at her profile, features soft and thoughtful.

"What do you want to do about the appointment with Paulson?" he asked.

One slender shoulder moved up and down. She leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I'm not sure."

Proceeding with caution, House said, slowly, "The scar obviously bothers you."

"Yes, but even if it's gone, I'll always remember. I'm not falling apart. I'm not that far gone," she said as she shook her head, "but I still think about it every day… even if it's only for a second."

"And you don't need a scar reminding you more every time you see it," House maintained.

She turned her head to meet his gaze and let one hand brush against his forearm. "Not all of the memories that came from it are horrible."

House didn't blink. "You just said that you'll always remember."

Her eyes dropped to her hand, marking a path along his arm to his hand. "I know. I'm just not sure what I want to do."

"You don't have to make up your mind tonight."

"No, I guess not."

"So," he said as he took hold of her wandering hand and moved, tugging her into his embrace, "is there some sort of 'three strikes and you're out' rule that I should know about? Looks like I've already used two."

Cameron let herself relax with her back flush against his chest, and his arm tight around her waist. "If I was smart I'd say yes."

"If you were smart you wouldn't be standing here in my arms in the first place."

She covered the large hand that was resting against her stomach and stroked her thumb along the prominent blue vein. "No, if I was smart I'd have found a way to get here without getting shot."

He rested his chin on the crown of her head. "You have a point," he snarked, lightly.

Cameron rolled her eyes up at him mouth curled in mock-annoyance. "You're a real sweet-talker, House. No wonder why you thought giving me plastic surgery would be a good idea."

"It's part of my gruff, devil-may-care charm," House replied, smirk still firmly in place. "What was I supposed to say?"

"Oh, something romantic. Maybe 'Well now that you're here, I'm not letting go,' or something sappy like that," Cameron joked.

His warm breath ruffled her hair as he lowered his mouth towards her ear. "I love you and I'm not letting you go." The words fell easily from his lips, far easier than he'd ever imagined.

He waited for Cameron's inevitable amazement, but she barely moved. Her hand tightened slightly and he thought he could feel her heartbeat quicken, but maybe that was his own, pounding against the inside of his chest. He was beginning to get worried when she finally spoke.

"I love you, too," her voice was thick with emotion, "and you know, you'll win every argument we ever have if you close with those three words."

Bodies shifted and everything else in the room, and outside of it, fell away. House looked down into Cameron's hopeful face and couldn't contain one last smirk.

"Let's hope we don't have to test your theory for a while," he said, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and willingly lost himself in her kiss. 


	25. A little note

Okay faithful Housketeers, here's the dealio…

For the past few weeks I have been battling an illness which started with hairloss, jointpain, weightloss and fatigue. I've had multiple blood tests done… none of them good… high ANA titer, low iron, high liver enzymes, blah, blah, blah. They seem to indicate an autoimmune disorder of some sort. Anyway, I'm currently scheduled to meet with a specialist next week so hopefully they will get to the bottom of it (I wish I had my own Dr House to diagnose me!). I'm still writing, but it's going much slower… much to my chagrin… I just didn't want any of you to think that I had dropped the ball. I actually completed a little short story which I will be posting here tonight, so hopefully that will tide you over for a while as I work on the next chapter of Saints & Saviors. I hope to complete it over the weekend when I have more daylight hours since I'm being forced to curtail my nocturnal habit!

Thanks for your patience!

EA


	26. Chapter 25

First I want to thank EVERYONE for your very, very kind messages to me! They made me feel so much better as I waited to find out what the story is with this health crisis of mine. After numerous bloodtests, x-rays and doctor's visits, I've been diagnosed with lupus which is an auto-immune disorder. Right up Cameron's alley! I'm currently on my first round of medication, with more bloodwork in a few weeks and a second opinion with another doctor in the near future as well. I've felt terrible about not working on this story, but I was just so exhausted from my rather stressful job, that I just didn't have the energy to devote to writing it and writing it well. Chapters will probably continue to come out a bit slower, but strangely, the diagnosis alone has put me in a clearer frame of mind so I think I'll be able to write much faster now! Again, THANK YOU ALL!

Chapter 25

"_I love you and I'm not letting you go."_

It was one little sentence, and she had replied in kind and after half an hour they'd gone to the kitchen to start dinner and the five minutes of emotional sincerity might just as easily have been imagined. Except it hadn't been.

Some women might have pushed. They might have wanted more. Cameron wasn't one of them. What was there to say, really? Do you really love me? Really, really? How much do you love me? Are you just telling me that because you know it's what I want to hear? The questions ranged from childish, to needy, to cynically insecure. She knew that he'd meant what he'd said.

Everybody lied, including him, but not about that. He might lie and say that he didn't care, but admitting to love… There wasn't the slightest possibility that he would do that if he weren't serious. Yes, she had already been relatively certain of his feelings, but hearing the words said out loud had been not so much a shock as a validation. She'd trusted her feelings about him, from the moment she'd met him, and she'd been right.

In any one else's mouth, his short admission would have sounded like a casual, almost off-handed line, but most people didn't suffer from the near-deadly allergy to sentiment that afflicted Gregory House. Cameron had been prepared to go a long time, possibly forever, without hearing the word 'love' from him. It hadn't even bothered her because she'd known how he felt, but in the days since, a spark of confidence had flared to life somewhere just below her heart and she hadn't even known it had been missing.

When she thought about it too much it embarrassed her a little. She'd told herself that she didn't need words from him, and she had thought that was the truth but it seemed that it had only been half a truth. She likened it to her senior year at medical school, when she'd been waiting for her final grades and class standing. She'd been trading top honors with a couple of other students since year one and she hadn't really expected to end up first. Either way, she'd still be a doctor, and she didn't need some little list to tell her that she'd worked her ass off to get there. She wasn't even sure why she bothered to trudge from her apartment across town to the campus to see the final marks. She did know that she had felt weightless on the trip home, and that weightlessness had returned about ten seconds after House told her he loved her.

House, for his part, wasn't one to repeat himself, and declarations of love were not exceptions to that rule. He said it. He meant it. That was enough. Her warm weight in his arms, and the smell of her skin, inches from his nose had him wondering why it had taken him so long to say something he'd felt for a month but devolving into an insipid, harlequin romance, flowery-love spouting hero was still not on his agenda. He held her close until he heard her stomach rumble, and then moved on to more practical matters. Dinner was followed by bedroom activities, which was followed by sleep and then another day at work. If House guessed at the subtle widening of her smiles or the increase in her natural feistiness, he never questioned it.

It was Friday before House got up the nerve to ask Cameron how the doctor's appointment had gone. She'd told him she was going to go and see what her choices were, but she hadn't mentioned it since. It went against the grain not to just ask her the minute she walked through the door Wednesday night, but he had held off, waiting for her to say something.

Wednesday night had slipped away and on Thursday he'd kept himself busy enough that his questions were only at the front of his brain every ten minutes or so. He'd stifled them with other thoughts, mostly the kind that repeated the reasons why he didn't really care what the doctor had told her. The real reason for his hesitancy, of course, was that he wasn't anxious to see a repeat performance of her pissed-off routine. He'd already interfered once, and while that normally wouldn't stop him from plowing right ahead once more, this time he held himself in check. At least until Friday night.

"So tell me, what did Dr. Botox have to say?"

House said it casually, while his long fingers stroked along Cameron's naked back, easing her back to earth after a particularly exuberant dance between the sheets. His reasons for asking at that particular moment were two-fold. First, she was probably still so content that she wouldn't get upset and second, if she did get upset, she was probably too limp to either hit him or storm out.

She did neither.

What she did do was huff out a little breath of air, tilt her face towards his and twitch her mouth into an approximation of an exasperated grin.

"You've really got the pillow talk down-pat," she told him with no little amount of humor.

"Well yeah, of course. Why d'you think I've got the women lined up around the block?"

"Actually, I would have put my money on another skill you have with your mouth," she replied, reaching up a lazy hand to trace the mouth in question.

"There is that, too," he said smugly, "although I admit that I've never been so… inspired."

Cameron's eyebrows rose in a pleased expression the also betrayed a bit of surprise.

"Oh c'mon, don't tell me no one's ever given you a compliment on your considerable coital skills," he said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaving his hand resting on the feminine curve of her belly.

"A lot fewer than you probably think," she said, "I think I may have mentioned that before." She stroked her hand along his jaw and kissed his chin.

House's chest rumbled with a laugh that didn't make its way out of his throat. "Right. You were waiting for the cranky sonofabitch of your dreams."

With a coy look in her eyes, Cameron rose up on her elbow and peered down at him. "Don't make me reconsider my choice."

"No promises," House intoned gravely, though his expression said something radically different. "That's the cranky sonofabitch trademark line."

She smirked playfully and lay her head back on his chest. "Point noted."

They were silent for a few minutes and then House spoke again.

"So, are you going to answer my question? What'd the great doctor have to say?"

His impatience made his tone almost snide, but Cameron found it endearing. She could hear the concern underneath the snideness.

"It was pretty much what I expected," she answered, keeping her body still as House's thumb brushed over the bottom edge of her scar. "He doesn't advise surgery for another four months at least. Even then he thinks there will probably always be some scarring. He thinks he can minimize it so it won't be too noticeable, especially higher on my chest."

House glanced down at the chest in question. She was half on top of him, but he could see the pink line just visible between her breasts. "Did you schedule it?"

"Not yet." She covered his hand with her own. "I made another appointment. We'll see how it looks in four months and schedule the surgery then."

"Don't do that just because you think it's something I want," House said gruffly, not sure why he was feeling emotional all of a sudden.

"No. I thought a lot about it. I want it gone. Any good that came from it… well, I've got other ways of remembering." She slid her arm across his chest and leaned up to capture his mouth.

His lips vibrated beneath hers as he hummed in gratification. She pulled away, looking self- satisfied.

House allowed a slow smile to stretch the corners of his mouth. "I'll be happy to keep your memory refreshed."

Playful touches and kisses didn't turn into anything else that night. It was wonderful to just fall asleep with the sensation of a kiss still lingering on lips while hands stroked delicately and wholly without their owner's knowledge over sensitive skin. House's fingers twined into Cameron's hair long after he drifted off, and she sighed and kissed his shoulder in her sleep.

They woke up feeling rested and content, and lay there quietly as House waited for his vicodin to kick in. It was a newly acquired routine that they had fallen into naturally. After the pain subsided to a dull ache, House made a pithy comment, rose from the bed, and made his way to the bathroom. Cameron, reading from the same script, got up, pulled her robe from the foot of the bed and padded into the kitchen to start coffee.

Bringing the robe, or any semi-permanent fixture to House's place had been a big deal in her mind, but House had pulled the rug of anxiety out from under her and left her lying on the feather bed of surprise. He was the one who had dragged a gym bag out of her closet when she was in the shower Thursday morning, and proceeded to toss in her robe, her favorite pajamas and a pair of slippers he'd found hiding under the bag. When he'd shouldered the bag on their way out the door, she'd questioned him and he'd replied that he was tired of her stealing his t-shirts and getting her cooties all over them.

Now, as the smell of coffee rose into the air, and she tightened the sash of her robe and grinned, she reflected that he hadn't seemed to mind her cooties that night. The familiar sound of him limping down the hallway echoed dully through the apartment. Cameron pulled two mugs from the cupboard and started pouring the coffee.

"You leave me any hot water?" she asked as she passed him in the doorway, coffee steam obscuring her vision while she sipped and walked.

"A few drops. You want toast?"

"With jam?" she called out hopefully.

"Oh fine, I'll give you the last of the jam," he muttered. "I should have known this was a bad idea." He was still muttered as he opened the refrigerator. "Now what the hell is that?" He reached in and pulled out the jam and the papers that rested on top of the jar.

Cameron was just piling her sudsy hair on top of her head when House thumped into the bathroom.

"What's this?" he asked bluntly, sweeping aside the shower curtain and holding up a tri-folded computer print out.

"Hotel reservations. Close the curtain; you're letting all the nice steam out."

"I know what they are, Cameron. What do they mean."

"If you know what they are, then why did you ask? And if you know what they are, then you know what they mean."

"I think they mean that you think we're going to Atlantic City today," House said, trying to decide why he didn't feel as annoyed as he thought he should.

"I always knew you were a genius."

"You made reservations for us to go away for the weekend."

Cameron poked her head out from behind the curtain and said brightly, "And to think it only took you five minutes to figure all that out."

She sounded very chipper and confident, and she felt somewhat chipper and confident, but she was also quite prepared to have House flush the reservations down the toilet. After a slow start, House had become the one to lead their relationship, and doing something like plan a weekend getaway was definitely a change in the status quo. If he refused to go, well, she'd get over it, but should knew it would set things on edge. She toyed with the shampoo bottle and wondered if she should have waited.

The sound of wood striking porcelain let her know that House was thinking.

"It says check-in's at three. Were you planning on doing the driving?" he asked with a lilt of sarcasm in his voice. The unspoken words were "since you've done everything else."

Cameron set the shampoo back on the edge of the tub and peeked out again. She had the grace to look slightly sheepish this time. "I thought I'd leave that to you," she said. "Your car is much cooler." Flattery was bound to help.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, clearly reading her tactics. Annoyance was still teasing around the back of his mind, but amusement was racing around the front shouting 'Ocean view! Gambling! Dining! SexSexSex!'.

"I'll pack a bag."

Cameron beamed at him. "Mine's waiting by the front door at my place. We just have to pick it up on the way."

"You're getting too devious for your own good."

"Hmm. I think I'm just about devious enough to match you now," Cameron replied. "And besides, I only use my powers for good, not evil."

House chuckled and shook his head. "Of course. If you started playing villain I'd have to suspect I'd dropped into Bizarro Land."

A delicate eyebrow arched upwards in question.

"Never mind. Finish your shower before the hot water runs out. I don't feel like hearing your girly squeals."

The metal rings clinked along the shower rod as Cameron closed the curtain. "Funny, you never minded them before," she teased.

The sound of the door shutting was the only reply and she stifled her laughter and rinsed the soap out of her hair.

When Cameron emerged from the bathroom House was still tossing things into a small suitcase and trying to look irritated. With her cotton robe sticking to her slightly damp skin and her tousled wet hair dripping down her back, Cameron wasn't exactly feeling formidable but she crossed her arms and stared at his back with an amused expression on her face.

"You aren't fooling me, House. I saw that little gleam in your eye back in the bathroom." She walked up behind him and leaned in close when he bent to zip up his bag. "You're going to have a good time. That's an order," she said, hot breath lightly touching the tip of his ear.

"Oh it is, is it?" he said, turning to her with his best scowl in place.

"Yes it is." She raised her chin defiantly, a grin relaying quite clearly that she wasn't buying his act.

His scowl reached new depths and then five seconds later it vanished, replaced by a cheeky smile. "Fine, but you have to give me a roll of quarters for the slot machines."

Cameron laughed. "I think they take dollars now, but how about if I stand right beside you while you pull the handle and squeal in delight if you win?"

He appeared to think about it for a moment. "That'll do."

For a split-second Cameron hesitated, body jerking slightly as she stopped herself, but then she stood on her toes and kissed House lightly on the cheek. It was strange that he seemed more comfortable with casual touches than she was. Reconciling the gruff, distant Dr. House in her mind with the still gruff, but tactile House in her new reality was taking some time. The fact that he was now looking at her with that beautiful soft light in his eyes made her want to hurry up. He blinked and the moment was gone, but she still felt her fingertips tingling with happiness.

The hardwood floor gleamed with reflected sunlight and Cameron kept her footsteps in the pools of sunshine, avoiding the shadows, as the two of them left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen for their quick breakfast.

"I think that's 'step on a crack, break your mother's back," not "step on the dark," House commented as he followed a step behind her.

Cameron turned her head quickly to look at him, surprised that he had even noticed. She herself had barely realized what she'd been doing.

"Old habit."

She'd stopped walking, and House caught up to her and passed her.

"It's very you," he said vaguely. He was thinking of Pollyanna and little-Mary-sunshine and dead husbands and bullet wounds. Darkness had done more than touch her and she still concentrated on stepping in sunshine.

Not exactly sure what to make of House's remark, Cameron followed him into the kitchen and sat down at what was now 'her' place. She'd brought her coffee back from the bathroom and there was strawberry jam-smothered toast along with a bowl of blueberry yogurt. She cast a glance at the yogurt-hating Dr. House who had lowered himself into his chair and was noisily crunching away at his toast.

"Calcium. Good for your bones," he said. When she looked disinclined to let it go, he rolled his eyes. "I've seen your fridge. I know you like it. Just be quiet and eat it."

Cameron grinned and picked up her spoon.

Less than half an hour later they were in House's car, speeding too fast through the streets of Princeton towards her apartment and then on to the highway. The scenery changed from attractive to unattractive and back again as they traveled down interstate 295 south and then onto route 206.

They'd be on that road for a while and Cameron leaned back and relaxed as the warm air swirled around her. She'd tied her hair back to keep it from whipping her in the face, but her long bangs still fluttered in the wind. She looked over at House who was tapping the wheel in time to the loud song blaring through the stereo. He was relaxed. She was relaxed. Life was good.

She was under no illusions. Life definitely wasn't perfect. The tension-filed week they'd just gone through was proof of that. She didn't want House to change who he was but he did have to learn a few things and so did she. She had to keep him from directing her life, no matter how well-intentioned he seemed, and he had to learn to stop trying. His personality was so strong that it was easy to be swept along believing his words to be sacrosanct. Cameron had spent her first few weeks at PPTH hanging on every one of them. Divorcing herself from that habit hadn't been easy, and now that she finally had what she'd been dreaming about for months, she had to poke herself to keep from falling back into it.

He was still her superior at the hospital, but they needed to be equals everywhere else. The past week had made her doubt that House's nature could ever allow that, but then it had given her hope. He had apologized and meant it. He had told her that he loved her. She wasn't the only one clinging precariously to that limb anymore. He was right there beside her, and she was beginning to think that it was an even greater risk for him.

"Another forty minutes before we get there," House announced as he merged onto the Atlantic City Expressway. "You need to stop for food?"

Cameron shook herself free from her thoughts and looked over at him. "I'm fine, unless you're hungry."

"I'm saving myself for a fried fish sandwich on the Boardwalk," House replied.

"It's good that you don't let your healthy eating habits interfere with having a good time on vacation," Cameron said with a smirk.

"I suppose you'll be sticking to salads?"

"No," Cameron answered, wide smile making her eyes sparkle. "I'm saving myself for the fried clams."

If he had been a laughing sort of person, House would have laughed at this announcement. Instead he allowed a brief grin and then went back to concentrating on the road.

They made better time than he'd anticipated and were pulling up to their hotel within half an hour. The speedy corvette definitely had its advantages when it came to negotiating in traffic. He had barely put the car in park at the front door when a valet came running up. House parted with his keys somewhat reluctantly and the young man hoisted their bags out of the trunk and left them standing under the expansive entryway.

House took in the luxurious surroundings and then looked down at Cameron. She had booked them a small suite at the Taj Mahal, and although the price had not been on the confirmation letter he'd seen that morning, he knew it had to have cost an arm and a leg.

"I guess we're paying you better than I thought," he commented as he extended the handle on his suitcase and started rolling it towards the massive front doors.

"Actually, a certain someone relieved me of a recent financial obligation so I decided to splurge."

"That certain someone must be a very generous soul."

"Well, either that or he was trying to buy his way into my bed," she replied, the corners of her mouth twitched as she kept her expression neutral but just barely. "Of course if that was his reason, he really shouldn't have bothered."

"And why's that?" House rose to the bait.

"I'd have jumped him for free," she answered, sultry look taking possession of her face and turning her eyes smoky as she captured his gaze.

House was no longer surprised that she could make his heart beat in double-time, but he was still appreciative of that fact. He bent down and whispered into her ear.

"For the record, if that had been the reason, it'd have been cheap at five times the cost."

He straightened up again and opened the door, waiting for a blushing Cameron to pass through before following her into the lobby.


	27. Chapter 26

_Thank you all, once again, for your kind concern and comments! My medication hasn't really kicked in yet, but I'm hopeful that I'll be feeling more like myself in a few weeks. Until then, I'm sorry that my writing speed has been significantly slowed! I hope everyone likes this chapter. I'll try to get the next one up a bit faster :) _

Chapter 26

The lobby of the Taj Mahal hotel had so much highly polished marble, and so many crystal chandeliers, that House thought they could be in danger of going blind from the glare. Then he took off his cynical-colored glasses and grudgingly admitted that the place was amazing. Over the top, but still amazing.

Surprisingly, there weren't many other people in the lobby, and House chalked it up to the fact that it was still early in the season. The place was probably packed at the height of summer. Meanwhile, the sound of his wheeled suitcase rolling along the smooth marble floor bounced dully off the fresco-painted walls.

"We're actually a little early. It's only one o'clock. I'm not sure if they'll let us check in," Cameron said from beside him.

"Ah, but this is where being a cripple really pays off," House said, affecting a more severe limp and shooting one of his not-quite-crazy-but-close looks at her.

They reached the concierge's counter and Cameron pulled her reservation sheet out of her pocketbook and slid it across the green marble.

"We have a reservation for two nights, under the name Cameron," she said sweetly. "I know we're a little early…"

"Completely my fault," House continued where Cameron left off. "She said we shouldn't have left so early, but I was just so darn eager to get here, and now I really need to lie down and rest this poor, deformed leg of mine."

House was sounding so terribly apologetic and sincere that Cameron had to turn away quickly and pretend to cough.

The woman behind the counter was young, attractive, and sympathetic. "Of course sir," she said, peering over the counter and seeing how heavily House was leaning on his cane.

Fifteen minutes later and they were passing through the door of their room on the fifteenth floor. House left his suitcase by the door while Cameron dragged hers into the bedroom bed before spinning around and getting a good look at the place.

"Well, despite his poor taste in toupees, I've got to admit that Trump's got a way with hotels," House said, followed by an appreciative whistle as he surveyed their rooms.

"I think that's his real hair," Cameron replied.

That won her an incredulous look from House. Based on the undercurrent of pity she guessed that it was directed at her for believing in Trump's hair fortitude.

"I bet we have a great view," she said, ignoring the look and heading for the large glass doors that led from the living area to the balcony.

"For the price you must be paying, we should have a bridge from that balcony to the beach," House snarked.

Cameron tossed a cheery look over her shoulder as she looked outside. "It was worth every penny just to have you whistle when we came in the room." She was feeling inordinately pleased about being able to impress him, even though technically it was the hotel doing the actual impressing.

A short 'harumph' could be heard coming from House's general direction as walked through the bedroom and peeked into the bathroom. Yes, that sealed it. This was the best hotel room he'd ever stayed in. Of course it didn't take much, considering that he generally abhorred travelling, but still, this place took the cake. He caught himself wondering where he could take Cameron to top it, and stopped himself. Damn, he was more competitive than he thought if vacation planning had suddenly turned into a sport. No, that wasn't it. He didn't want to outdo her, he just wanted to be the one to put that shy-surprised-delighted look on her face. Yeah. That was another one of those things he wasn't going to tell Wilson about.

He spared another look at the Indian-inspired bathroom, with its sunken hot tub, double marble sinks, and six-head glass-enclosed steam shower. The colors were all tans and reds with accents of gold and faux vintage prints of elephants and tigers on the walls. He stepped back into the bedroom, which followed the stylized Indian theme. The bedspread was dark red with gold threads making a complicated design on the surface. The pictures seemed to be the PG rated pages from the Kama Sutra, and a massive mahogany armoire housed a flatscreen television and a built-in mini-fridge. House pressed one hand on the mattress as he passed the king-sized bed on his way into the living area. He was already looking forward to using that bed.

Cameron was still out on the balcony, and House joined her out there and looked out, across the Steel Pier, down the Boardwalk to the beach and the ocean beyond. It was hazy in the distance and he couldn't tell where the water ended and the pale blue sky began.

"Did I thank you for thinking of this?" House asked as he stepped closer to her and draped an arm around her shoulders.

"Nope," she replied, breathing in the hint of salt air that floated above the scent of the city.

"Then consider this my thanks." He ducked his head and caught her mouth as she turned her face towards him. The kiss was long and deep, his tongue conveying more with touch than it could with words.

Cameron had a grin plastered on her face when they pulled away to grab a snatch of air, and her eyes were sparkling again. "You're more than welcome."

House kissed her again, and sent her heart rate skyrocketing when he snaked a hand under her shirt to caress her bare skin.

"What about that sandwich you wanted," she said throatily when he left her mouth to press a series of love bites down her neck.

"I think food can wait," he told her.

She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the doorway. "I agree."

They managed to keep the distracting touches to a minimum as they walked through the living room, but all bets were off once they crossed the threshold to the bedroom. House didn't long for the ability to sweep her up and toss her to the bed, but he did wish that he'd taken an extra couple of vicodin in the car. He heard the pills rattling in his jacket as Cameron tugged it off and was mildly surprised when she paused and reached into the pocket to get the small amber container. She thumbed off the lid, tumbled one into her palm and offered it to him. The look on her face started as one of acceptance and morphed into one of sultry seduction as she raised her hand to his mouth. His eyes widened, then grew heavy-lidded with lust. He flicked out his tongue to capture the white pill, swallowed hard, and placed a moist kiss on her palm. Her siren-like grin spread across her face just before he pressed his lips to hers again, murmuring her name in between kisses and moving his mouth down her jaw towards her ear.

"Allison."

"Mmm… what?" House muttered, lips brushing against her neck.

"Call me Allison." Her breath was a whisper touch along his cheek.

The taste of her skin was on his tongue, her sweet scent filling his lungs. He didn't want to stop what he was doing, but something in her tone made him. He needed to see her face.

"We're not at work. We're away from the world we're both used to. I want to be Allison here. I want to hear you say my name."

"Allison," her name sounded strange to his ears, too fine and delicate for his gravelly voice. He watched her eyes as they flickered slightly and then seemed to turn into fathomless pools. "It's a nice name," he said, wondering if she would successfully translate 'nice' into 'beautiful'.

His hands were still on her shoulders and he swept his thumbs over her prominent collarbones, eager to replace his fingers with his lips.

"Thank you… Greg," she replied, trying it out, letting it roll off her tongue.

A rumbling noise started in House's chest and he felt the unbidden reaction from another part of his body as well. Cameron felt that response as well and she smiled. Apparently he liked hearing it as much as she liked saying it. A second later and her smile was gone, forced from her lips by the insistent pressure of House's mouth against them.

Their clothing was shed quickly, bra following blouse, boxers following pants, until they were naked save for the sheet Cameron had pulled partially over them. It was one of her little quirks and House was happy to accommodate her. He even saw advantages to the light covering. The rustle of fine cotton against his lower back was a sensual caress that worked in tandem with Cameron's delicate fingers on his shoulder and neck, setting his skin on fire. How had he ever doubted his ability to keep up with her needs? He was burning for her and she'd barely touched him.

The expensive mattress knew better than to squeak as they shifted and maneuvered around each other, touching sensitive places and making adjustments as necessary. House only winced once when her knee dug into his thigh, and even in her state of spiraling need, Cameron noticed and soothed it with her hands, one against the damaged muscle and one running along aroused flesh to distract him from the pain.

She was more vocal than usual, repeating his name, and telling him how wonderful he was making her feel. Her words further enflamed him and suddenly his age was an advantage, giving him the control that allowed him to concentrate on her. Her body arched into his touch, her desire evident, and before long he gave in to her pleading words and eager hands.

Outside the windows, seagulls circled and cried out, the sound of the waves echoed above the traffic, and a strong breeze pushed salt air into the room. House didn't notice any of that. His mouth, his eyes, his hands, his ears, all his senses were tuned to the small woman straining with pleasure in his embrace. He looked down into her face and felt himself on the verge of coming undone.

"Allison," he ground out, "open your eyes."

Blue met blue and he felt her surge over the edge, shuddering and murmuring nonsense words as her body clutched at him. He held on just long enough to watch her fall and then joined her an instant later, her name a repeated mantra flowing from his mouth.

The two of them lay almost completely still as they enjoyed the afterglow and drifted in and out of wakefulness. The air conditioning in the room chilled their previously overheated skin and House groped for the sheet and pulled it up over their shoulders, leaving his hand resting on the back of Cameron's neck. He let out a sigh of pleasure and allowed himself to doze, feeling her pulse throb under his thumb. Gimpy leg, lousy attitude, a past full of heartache, only one man he could call a friend, but as he lay there, floating on endorphins and bliss, he couldn't think of anyone he wanted to switch places with.

It was sometime later when Cameron twisted her body sideways and propped herself up on her elbow so that she could look down at House's relaxed features. She moved a hand to cup his stubble-coated jaw and brushed her thumb over his lips. Slowly his eyes blinked open and she smiled.

"I think there's still time to get that sandwich you wanted," she said.

"Well I have worked up even more of an appetite."

She chuckled; an adorable sound coming from her chest. "Join me for a shower first?"

His eyebrows rose, and he tried to keep from outright leering at her. "You do realize the number of home accidents that occur in the shower, don't you?

A light kiss was planted on his lips before she pulled away and swung her legs out of bed. "Yes, but we're not at home. And I promise to hold you up," she countered suggestively as she passed into the bathroom.

House arrived at her side just as the steam started coating the shower doors.

Given his injured leg, House wasn't up for the sort of gymnastic sexual encounters that most frequently appeared on movie and television screens. That didn't stop them from turning a quick shower into a twenty-minute event. Soapy hands were given freedom to roam over silky skin and they had to stifle their moans to keep them from echoing off the glass walls. Just washing Cameron's long hair became almost more intimate than mere sex, his fingers strong yet gentle, massaging her scalp and spreading her hair over her shoulders like a shawl. She whimpered deep in her throat and let her head fall forward when he pushed the dark strands to the side and kissed the back of her neck. Then, when she ran a soapy cloth over his damaged thigh, and then his quickly expanding arousal, he groaned with as much satisfaction as he would have if she'd just taken him in her mouth.

Washing had eventually given way to purely erotic touches, but they had remained soft and tender. They built slowly towards release and then coasted over the edge on a gentle wave, with tongues intertwined, and hands continuing to stroke delicately as they floated back to earth.

They finally made it out of the room at quarter to three.

* * *

The Boardwalk was nearly six miles from end to end, and the Taj Mahal resort hotel was situated almost all the way to the northern end of it. As House and Cameron started walking they could see the almost gaudy edifices of the other casinos interspersed with buildings left over from another age. There were some souvenir and food stands set up along the walk, and smaller boardwalks leading down to the beach.

The two of them walked past the Steel Pier, with its assortment of amusement park rides, and headed further down the walk. House looked around with interest, noting signs and shops and staring at some of the newer casinos. Raucous noises filtered out from them despite the early hour, and an assortment of people walked by and around them, some young, some older, most looking like thinking about their next big score.

"Penny for your thoughts, Greg."

It took a second for House to realize that Cameron was talking to him, and when he looked down at her she was grinning.

"So that's how it's going to be, eh?"

"Humor me."

"Okay… Allison," he replied, still not quite used to the sound of her name on his tongue. "I was just thinking of how much this place has changed."

She looked at him inquisitively. "Since when?"

"Since I was a kid."

"You came here back then? I thought you grew up in New York." House hadn't shared many details of his past during their time together, but certain things had been mentioned.

"I did, but we had some cousins who had a house down here. We'd come for the summer."

"They've built it up a lot since then," Cameron agreed, remembering a few trips she'd made during her college years.

Even the ten years since then had brought a lot of change. The Boardwalk looked a lot more modern, with the new hotels towering over everything, and a lot of the smaller places gone. It was definitely cleaner, but some of the character had been swept away along with the trash.

"There used to be a guy who sold fried dough the size of your head, and another one who served up snowcones while puffing on the biggest cigar I've ever seen," House reminisced.

Cameron felt a little bit anxious hearing him talk like that. Sometimes it was better to let your childhood memories remain perfectly preserved, and she hoped he wasn't disappointed by what he saw now.

"Sorry I brought you here?" she asked, honest, as always, with her thoughts.

He only considered her words for a moment before reaching for her hand and giving it a short squeeze. "Nope." He looked at her profile, hair windswept from the ocean breeze, the beach and water beyond forming a backdrop to her features. "There's been a definite improvement in the view, Allison," he stated with that careless tone that actually held his feelings just below it. "Come on… I'll race you down to the beach." He let go of her hand and limp-sprinted down the walkway leaving Cameron smiling in his wake.

The tide had just gone out, leaving the sand hard-packed and relatively easy to walk on, even for House. He wasn't at all surprised when Cameron ran up from behind him and swung into step while grabbing his hand. She had kicked off her sandals and carried them in her other hand, leaving her feet to make fading indentations that filled with water as she walked along.

"I love the ocean," she declared, breathing in deeply and letting the salt air settle in her lungs.

"Guess you didn't see much of it in land-locked Wisconsin."

"No, not exactly," she replied. "Maybe that's why I can't get enough of it now."

"It's the exact same color as your eyes," he stated, causing her to do a quick double-take as a grin formed on her face.

"Why, Greg, how sentimental," she teased.

He rolled his eyes. "I get paid to be observant," he countered, by way of explanation.

"Somehow I don't think my eye color, in relation to the Atlantic Ocean, has ever been a factor in one of our cases."

He rolled his eyes again and decided to quit while he was ahead. They continued walking in silence for a few minutes before Cameron spoke again.

"Yours are the color of the sky in July."

They never did end up getting their sandwiches, but they did get pretzels, taffy and Italian ice when they walked up to the Boardwalk again and started heading back towards the Taj Mahal. They also ducked into The Sands casino, which was one of the oldest there. Cameron insisted that she needed to put ten dollars on her lucky number on the roulette wheel. House scoffed at her and was glad she only rubbed it in a little when she won fifty bucks.

Back in their room, they realized that neither of them was hungry for dinner, but it seemed a crime not to at least eat something. Their hotel alone had eleven restaurants to choose from, along with a mini mall food-court. They settled on _Marc Anthony's_ and Cameron insisted on changing.

"Allison, the clock is ticking," House called impatiently from the living room. Once plans were decided upon he hated waiting. He had switched his khakis for dark trousers and a matching jacket, but that had only taken two minutes.

"Five more minutes! I thought you weren't even hungry!"

"Yeah, well…" he faded off, not having a good answer, and struck dumb by the site of Cameron in a slinky black silk dress.

The dress was silk brocade with a high mandarin collar but Cameron's hand was still protectively covering her chest. Her hair, untamable from their walk, was a riot of waves that fell past her shoulders. Any desire to leave the room quickly fled from House's mind as he stood up and walked to her side. He took hold of the hand that rested over her heart and tugged her into his body, feeling her heat through the material that separated them.

"I could just stay here and eat you," he growled into her ear.

Her smile started in her eyes and moved on from there. "You could, but then you'd miss out on this." She held up her other hand and revealed two tickets for a show in the hotel that started at eight.

'VH1 - Classics of Rock' was emblazoned on the front, along with a list of bands that included Cinderella, Ratt and Quiet Riot. House's eyes lit up and he looked from the tickets to Cameron's beaming face.

"When you do something, you really go all the way, don't you?"

"Pretty much, yeah," she answered, looking like a kid on Christmas morning who'd just opened a brand new bike.

House shook his head. This was a new side to her, but he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised. She'd been the one to give him a Christmas present even when he'd spent half his time tossing scathing remarks in her direction. It only stood to reason that she'd let the giving side of herself have free-rein now that she felt more secure that he wouldn't slap her down.

He leaned forward again and said huskily, "Allison, if you hadn't already spent all this money, I'd choose you and that dress over Cinderella, any day of the week." He felt, rather than saw, her blush against his cheek.

"We'd better hurry now," she said, tongue feeling slightly clumsy. Flattery had a way of doing that to her. "We'll probably want to change again before the concert."

"Oh no," House declared as he headed towards the door. "I think you'll look just fine."

Cameron laughed lightly. "I'm pretty sure we'll be overdressed, and I even smuggled a couple of your old t-shirts here so we'd fit right in."

House smirked. "Fine. Maybe I'll even buy you a t-shirt of your own."

"Right. Wouldn't want me getting any more cooties on yours," she joked.

He pulled her close for a heated kiss just before they reached the door. "I brought your clothes to my place so you'd feel more comfortable," he said as he pulled away, "but you in a worn black t-shirt is even sexier than you in this dress," he continued as he eyes raked up and down her body.

Cameron blushed again and smirked up at him. "And you think you don't have a way with words."

He grinned at her innocently and quickly led her from the room. He was already looking forward to their return and a repeat of the afternoon's performance.


	28. Chapter 27

_The next chapter! Thank you all for sticking around :) _

Chapter 27

Sunday night was clear and slightly cooler now that the sun was down. Cameron had a light sweater on over her top and House's perpetually rumpled oxford shirt covered a brand new 'Rock Classics' t-shirt. He'd bought a matching one for Cameron but it was child-sized and fit more like a baby-doll shirt. She'd modeled it for him right after the concert. It had been a short modeling session since he'd pulled it off her after less than five minutes.

An energetic beginning had mellowed into a slower and ultimately more fulfilling experience for both of them. They'd woken up well after nine, separated by the width of the bed but facing each other across it. Cameron had decided it was an arrangement she could easily get used to.

House had expected to call room service, pack and head back to Princeton, but Cameron had announced that she'd traded sixteen hours of clinic duty for Monday off. The hours were meant to be split between herself and House, but she quickly assured him that she'd take them all. House had grumbled at the fact that Cuddy never made deals like that with him anymore. Cameron had reminded him that was probably because he always broke them.

Breakfast in bed had been followed by time on the beach, with Cameron sunning herself on a chair borrowed from the hotel and House playing Metroid Prime on his gameboy under a borrowed umbrella. His concentration was thrown by the sight of a relaxed Cameron dozing peacefully while the ocean waves provided the background noise. She wasn't wearing a bathing suit. She wasn't ready for that. But her shorts were cut just a scant two inches below her shapely bottom, and a high cut tank showed off her arms as well as certain other attributes. She'd found the shirt two days before leaving and had bought it in five different colors. She considered it fifty dollars well spent and made a mental note that adapting wasn't as impossible as she'd thought it would be.

House had finally gotten his fish sandwich for lunch, and Cameron had gorged herself on fried clams. Then they'd wandered from casino to casino making petty bets and pulling slots. House had won seventy and Cameron had lost fifty in the Showboat. At Caesars, Cameron had redeemed herself by hitting on sixteen and winding up with twenty-one and two hundred dollars in winnings. House made her blow on his dice and still only broke even at the craps tables. The Tropicana was best forgotten by both of them, but back at the Sands, Cameron had once again won at roulette and House walked away from a slot machine with a bucket full of money. That was when they decided to quit while they were ahead.

Throughout the day, House was surprised and somewhat enamoured of how animated Cameron could get. She was normally so sedate, the calming influence on the team, at least until she was pushed. Seeing her throw her hands up and cheer when the dealer announced her a winner was as refreshing as it was unusual. He failed to notice that his own snide demeanor had slipped slightly to the side as well. The crowds of people were as irritating as ever. His leg hurt just as badly as it did every day. He was still middle-aged and mad at the world. He just wasn't quite as mad at his particular corner of it at that particular moment.

A visit to the Steel Pier was his idea, but Cameron wasn't surprised. A man who salivated over monster trucks was bound to be just as child-like when it came to amusement parks. She was just glad she'd had a light dinner, because she saw multiple trips on the roller coaster in her future.

The sun went down, and the park lights went on, and there they were, wandering the park slowly, letting the crowd surge around them, and letting themselves relax in a way they couldn't seem to when they were in Princeton, whether in or out of the hospital. House's unbuttoned shirttails ruffled slightly in the light breeze, and Cameron buttoned the top button on her sweater.

"You gonna finish that?" Cameron made a swipe at House's cotton candy just as he pivoted away.

"Mine. Get your own," he accented his words by taking a large sugary bite.

Eyes narrowed and lips twitched. "I seem to remember you stealing mine the last time."

"Incorrect, Allison. It was freely given. And taken back as well. My razor sharp mind likes to ignore the cruel race to the car that followed."

Cameron laughed. "A race you won!"

"Pity win, no doubt."

"Or maybe it was the cane across the back of my knees that slowed me down." Another playful laugh.

"Sorry, I don't recall that."

"Just give me the candy, Greg." She grinned while reaching again and this time he let her grab it, holding on just a few extra seconds before releasing it.

"Fine. Don't blame me when you projectile vomit all over the guy ahead of us on this ride."

Eyes skyward and an exasperated sigh. "If I didn't throw up after the fifth time on Mouser, I'm never going to."

"Yes, but this is the tilt-a-whirl. There will be tilting and whirling."

"I got that from the name," she replied dryly.

He chuckled and stole his cotton candy back, finishing it off before throwing the paper cone in the trash as they reached the front of the line.

Two minutes later they exited the ride and staggered to a nearby bench. Cameron looked slightly green but her expression warned House against saying anything. After a few minutes of silence she tilted her head back and looked up into the sky. It was more grey than black, with the lights from the park obscuring the stars above. She could still hear the waves though, two hundred yards away and sloshing against the pier. House's eyes were on her and she could sense it. He liked to watch her when he thought she wouldn't notice. He always had.

"This has been a nice weekend," she said, still looking skyward.

"It's had its moments," House agreed, thinking of a few in particular, most involving little clothing and a lot of touching.

"Relaxing."

"I'm assuming that was your goal."

"Yes. It's different here. I feel different here."

"One of two things can happen when you take someone out of their normal routine. Either they close up or they open."

"Looks like we both opened."

"Looks like."

"I would have predicted you'd be a closer," she said, turning and squinting up at him, his head backlit by a string of blinking lights.

"Ahh, yes, but you forgot that the most predictable thing about me is that I'm unpredictable."

"True."

His arm slid around her shoulders unexpectedly and they sat and watched the people passing for a few silent minutes.

Cameron moved first; standing up and tugging House to his feet.

"Come on. We've got a few open hours left," she told him, knowing that once they hit the road back to Princeton they would inevitably slip back into their prearranged roles, though perhaps a bit more comfortable in their own skin. It wasn't a bad arrangement to go back to, but it required a lot more work. She stared into House's eyes. He looked like he was up for it.

"I'll be generous, and let you pick the next ride."

"Ferris wheel?" she cajoled.

"That's an awfully wussy, ride."

"Come on, Greg. I've been on every whiplash inducing ride in this place… twice!"

"Fine, but only if I get to give you a hickey when we're stopped at the top."

"Promises, promises," she answered coyly, and headed towards the giant wheel with an extra sway in her hips.

* * *

Monday rolled by in a bit of a blur, as House and Cameron had one last romp in the oversized bed before checking out of the hotel and proceeding to spend the rest of the day drifting from casino to casino and alternately watching the floorshows and trying their luck at the tables. Surprisingly, it held up remarkably well. By the time House pointed the Corvette north and headed out of the city, they were still up by a combined five-hundred and thirty-seven dollars.

The drive back to Princeton started out with friendly bantering and slowly dissolved into silence as the sun went down and reality crept back. When they stopped for dinner on the way, they were back to calling each other by their last names. Keeping the memory of the weekend alive, however, was House's warm hand on Cameron's thigh as they completed the journey home, and Cameron's whispered 'I love you' when he dropped her off at her apartment.

Cameron beat House to the hospital the next morning. It wasn't hard to do since she arrived at just quarter past seven. She'd woken up as dawn crept over the horizon and hadn't been able to fall back to sleep. Too many thoughts were running through her head.

Officially, she and House had been together for a month and her feelings about the relationship were still new and sometimes shaky. Dawn had brought one of those shaky times. She knew how she felt about him. She was pretty sure how he felt about her. Unfortunately life and feelings and the real world didn't always mesh well together. She knew that first hand and as idealistic as she appeared, there was a thread of cynicism that ran through her and could give House's a run for its money.

The weekend had been wonderful, but it was over now, and she didn't have any visions of 'happily ever after' occurring in the near or distant future. Friday morning she'd been more optimistic; knowing what needed to be worked on between them and viewing their problems as far from insurmountable. A night alone in her own bed had brought another list of doubts to her mind. She was already worried about her career, his career and how working together could affect them both.

That train of thought had led her down the track a ways to acknowledging that as close as they became, she would probably always be second to medicine in his heart. A hundred whispered 'I love yous' weren't going to change that. Real life wasn't like a romance novel. If it was, then she'd have size 36D breasts, and House would have a mullet instead of a limp. She liked to think that having his love at all was good enough, even if it wasn't some fireworks laden romp through the park, but honestly, she wasn't sure. It had taken her until six a.m. to decide that she was up for the challenge of finding out.

Now she sat in his chair, letter opener in hand, sorting through the mail and trying to convince herself that she enjoyed being useful, instead of admitting that she was a little annoyed to be fulfilling the role of glorified secretary. She had never really minded before, but the twenty minutes spent contemplating her career had made her question some things. Initially she'd started answering the mail because House threw it all away and they were desperate for patients. It wasn't like television, where mysterious cases just walked through the hospital every day. They did occasionally need to bring them in from other clinics and hospitals. She could have pestered Foreman and Chase into taking turns at it, but somehow it had become a little source of pride for her to be in charge of it. She was the one House went to when he needed a new challenge. She was the one who played the largest role, next to him, in deciding who they took on as a patient. At least that was the way she saw it. Her pestering thoughts had made her wonder about how he viewed it.

The sharp sound of a palm striking glass made her look up.

"In early, eh?" House pushed through his office door at seven-thirty. "That had better not be my mug you're drinking out of"

"I didn't see your name on it," she said. She knew she sounded a little abrupt, and wasn't surprised when House's left eyebrow rose.

"Bad morning already? It's not even eight."

Cameron gave herself a mental shake. Now was not the time to let her sleep-deprived brain do the talking.

"Just didn't sleep well," she replied.

He looked at her, his expression an amalgamation of caring, and not caring; as if he was trying to make it look like a completely clinical type of concern.

"No dreams," she said, answering the question that was on his tongue.

The not-caring expression grew an overtone of confusion, but he still didn't question her.

"It's nothing, House. Let it go." As if that ever worked on him.

They'd reverted to calling one another by surname on the drive back from Atlantic City, but it no longer sounded quite as normal. In two days he'd become accustomed to the sound of his first name on her lips. Yet the idea of her calling him that here would have sounded just as wrong. A firm dark line had been blurred and the edges were getting fainter all the time. It needed to be redrawn.

He reached out for the letters she'd neatly sorted. "Thanks," he muttered, letting the subject of her strange mood drop for the moment. "Cuddy tagged me on my way in. Seems we have a patient. Foreman and Chase took the history and ran the initial bloods yesterday."

"I saw the file," Cameron replied, shuffling a few papers and pulling a blue folder free. "All the symptoms point to atrial fibrillation."

"The patient's only twenty-one years old," House countered.

"And his bloodwork shows hypothyroidism, which can cause the AF."

"Not common, but true. And the rash?"

"Simple allergy to the medication his last doctor put him on."

"Ahh, an easy catch for the immunologist."

Cameron tilted her head in acceptance of the rare compliment. "There was an article about that med in NEJM about six months ago."

"Well, in the absence of any naysaying from your tardy comrades, we'll go with your diagnosis. Set up an electrocardiogram and when it comes back positive, start him on norpace and get him set up with a holter monitor so we can see if it works."

House watched as Cameron's eyes narrowed and her chin rose a fraction of an inch.

"So you'd already figured it out, eh?"

"On the elevator trip up," he admitted with a shrewd grin. "But I always like hearing how your mind works."

Another compliment, and Cameron pursed her lips and considered her next words. She didn't want to sound like she was begging for his approval, but she needed to silence the annoying voices in her head.

"So you do respect my opinion, then."

"Is that a trick question?"

"It wasn't actually a question at all."

"Is this about the coffee mug? Because we've got at least three red ones floating around here. I don't mind if you use one. I was just being annoying for the hell of it."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "No, it isn't about the coffee mug."

"Okay then," House drew out the 'o' in 'okay' as his eyebrows performed a short dance above crystalline eyes. "We're back to the 'will you still respect me in the morning' routine. How'd that happen?"

"This is why I didn't want to talk about it."

"And yet, you're the one who brought it up again," House helpfully pointed out. Cameron glared at him but the venom in her gaze seemed more self-directed than anything else.

"I make the coffee. I find the sugar. I answer the mail. I do your charting."

"Hey, I told you I'd do my own charting from now on," he interrupted, then silenced himself at her look.

"Why do you let me do those things?"

"Because then I don't have to."

A nod of acknowledgement. "Honest. That's good."

"This might be easier if you told me what the hell you're getting at, Cameron," House said, beginning to lose his patience. It occurred to him that with anyone else, that patience would have been lost and out the door thirty seconds after the conversation began.

Cameron sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with thumb and index finger. "I'm not even sure," she said, frustrated with herself.

House hadn't spent twenty years watching people without getting damn good at reading them, and the pages that made up Cameron's mood were beginning to sort themselves into order.

"You may be questioning your past motivations, but leave mine out of it," he said, his voice slightly gentler than it had been a moment ago.

"I can't have many secrets around you, can I?" she said, lips quirked into a slight grimace.

"You're drinking coffee out of my mug, sorting my mail and in a foul mood. Doesn't take a genius to figure out you're wondering if I view you as my personal secretary. Also doesn't take a genius to figure out that part of the reason you've been the Suzy-homemaker of the office all this time because you thought it made you special. A cut above the other little ducklings. Maybe I snarked at you just as much, but you still got to answer my mail every morning, so that had to count for something. Am I getting warm?"

"Annoyingly so," she answered, the words bitten short.

"So here's where I tell you some hard truths. You're expected to make the coffee because every time someone else does it, it ends up tasting like sludge. You know where the sugar is because you're the thoughtful one around here. Sorry, but it's true. And as for the mail… I've respected your opinions on the referrals since I first saw that ridiculous girly 'G' of yours. I probably respect your opinion more than you do, half the time. That's one of your problems. You spend too much time wondering if you're right and not enough time insisting that you are. That's why you feel like you need to make your mark known in other ways. Like with forged signatures and neatly written files."

"Knowing that you can be a nice person is making it really hard to think of you as a bastard right now," Cameron said, feeling the heat of humiliation stain her cheeks.

House walked around the desk and stared down at her. "Sometimes being a bastard is the best way to be a nice person," he told her. "Now get out of my chair and go deal with our patient."

The chair squeaked and protested as she pushed herself out of it. "I'm the queen of over-compensation, aren't I?"

"You said it. Not me," House quipped as he settled himself in his still-warm chair.

"The only thing you didn't guess," she said thoughtfully, "is that I actually do enjoy doing all of those things. It isn't just for the recognition."

"Well, thank God! Otherwise I'd be living in fear of coffee by Foreman and a stack of unopened mail right now." He shot her a sarcastic smile, hoping that the situation was settled, or at least close to being settled.

"No. I wouldn't be so cruel," she said with a smirk. Her thoughts were still somewhat jumbled, but they were beginning to sort themselves out. She walked to the door, low heels clicking against the floor.

"Hey."

"What?" she asked, turning around.

"You do realize that if I didn't respect you as an intelligent, competent, capable woman, I'd never have considered…" he made some vague hand movements that Cameron easily deciphered.

"I hoped that was true," she said, watching his eyes do their usual darting dance around the room that signaled he was discussing his feelings.

"Well you can stop hoping. It's true. Looks alone don't do much for me."

A slow grin inched its way onto Cameron's face. "So even in the beginning, I was more than just the pretty artwork in the lobby."

"Much more." He was surprised at the fact that his words weren't growled out the way he usually admitted things. In fact there was a warmth to them and when he looked in Cameron's face he saw it reflected there.

"Thanks," Cameron said as one of her rare work-time smiles grew out of the shy grin that had graced her lips a second earlier.

"No problem," House replied, followed by a hasty reach for his iPod in order to distract himself from the full wattage of that smile. When he looked up again, she was disappearing down the hallway, but he could still see the smile in the way she walked and he shook his head in quiet amazement that words from him could make her walk like that.


	29. Chapter 28

_Get ready people, here starteth the countdown to the END of Saints&Saviors! Only two more chapters which I have outlined on my computer. (PHEW! And a huge sigh of relief is heard throughout the House community!)_

Chapter 28

A relationship roadmap has never been successfully created, probably because each one is so different from the next. When friends become lovers, the awkward 'getting to know you' stage is eliminated, but is replaced by an uncomfortable 'I didn't know that about you' stage. With two strangers, sometimes things click immediately, like two puzzle pieces pushed into place by a pink-haired eighty-year old in a Florida retirement community. Other times it takes weeks before two disparate lives can mesh together into a comfortable alliance. Even when one of those loose scenarios is followed, the small differences between couples makes creating a standard timeline impossible.

House and Cameron hadn't been friends, but they hadn't been strangers either. Their relationship didn't follow any of the standard guidelines. They slept in the same bed before their first date, and pushed each other away before they were even together. It was safe to say that the first month was somewhat rocky. However, after that first month, and the trip to Atlantic City, things smoothed out in a way that usually only happened with long-time lovers.

Part of that was due to the fact that they were both 'Type A' personalities when it came to routine and a need for it. House hated surprises in his personal life, and Cameron needed consistency to feel comfortable. With both of those needs working in tandem, it didn't take long for their relationship to become a pleasant routine.

By mutual agreement, Cameron started spending most of her nights at House's place. He would cook, or she would pick up take-out and they'd eat and work and watch tv and neck and have sex and sleep. A small collection of Cameron's clothing began accumulating at the far end of House's closet.

Wilson came over occasionally, and sometimes Cameron would be there, but she often made an excuse for needing to be at her own apartment. She didn't want House to think she was trying to smother him, and honestly, she did need some time on her own. An old acquaintance from med school had heard about the attack through a less-than-reputable newspaper which had released her name. The two of them had struck up a friendship and Cameron felt slightly less of a social pariah with a non-work related friend to hang out with.

House remained moody and distant at times, and Cameron sometimes let her emotions get the better of her, but neither really tried to change those things. It was far easier to accept them. Cameron had only gotten really angry once, when House had run roughshod over her at work and then continued to be bitterly sarcastic at home before planting a kiss on her that clearly demanded more. Up until that kiss, Cameron had been willing to let him have his mood, but the idea that he expected her to turn around and give him sex too was one that infuriated her. She had left and spent the evening out with Kelly before returning to her apartment and the blinking red light on her answering machine. House's moods hadn't disappeared after that, but he had learned not to take them out on her, at least outside the hospital walls.

Only one thing outside the hospital consistently brought them trouble, and that was phone calls from the district attorney, informing Cameron about the status of the case against her attacker. Each call was invariably followed by a sleepless night for the couple, as Cameron's nightmares kicked in full-force, and House did what he could to alleviate them. Sometimes she would curl up on the sofa while he played the piano, and other times - the bad times - he would pop an extra vicodin and just hold on as she thrashed in her sleep and woke herself up screaming. During those nights House never had anything but comforting words to say, learned from he knew not where; but in the morning he would storm into Wilson's office shouting and banging the bookcases with his cane. Wilson knew to just let him rage, and then buy him a big breakfast down in the cafeteria.

Inside the hospital, House and Cameron retained a strictly professional relationship, aside from the once-in-a-blue-moon kiss in the parking lot or sultry look across the briefing room when no one else was looking. Cuddy was happy because House seemed a fraction less ornery most days, and had also completely stopped his remarks about her breasts, blouses and their one-night stand. Wilson was hard-pressed to keep a smug smile off his face when he caught House's gaze lingering over Cameron, but he wisely kept his smart remarks to himself, just as he remained completely agreeable during House's cane-banging routines. Foreman, after his initial skepticism, had decided to completely ignore the entire situation, since that seemed to be what House and Cameron preferred. Only Chase persisted in making lewd remarks under his breath, but even those had petered out once he saw that they weren't having the desired effect.

So there it stood. One month after Atlantic City, and the dysfunctional little group at PPTH had adjusted to the new change in the status quo. No one even thought, except in passing, how quickly things could change.

* * *

Monday mornings meant the arrival of the mail that had accumulated since Friday afternoon. It was usually a sizable stack that took Cameron anywhere from a half-hour to forty-five minutes to sort through, jotting recommendations on sticky-notes and updating the computer with information at the same time. Her minor melt-down over her perceived status, and House's reaction to it, had done a lot for her self-esteem, and she was back to enjoying her role as chief confidant of the Diagnostic Medicine department. The ridiculously goofy, and somewhat indecent card that House had slipped into the pile the next morning hadn't hurt either.

At the moment, House was down at the clinic, reluctantly putting in his hours after telling Cameron to page him the moment someone was referred with so much as a suspicious sniffle. Cameron had promised to do so, but had crossed her fingers behind her back at the same time. House's required clinic time didn't disappear just because he had a patient, and she was tired of the fact that the end of the month was his designated 'cranky time' thanks to the backlog of hours he was required to complete.

A familiar form passed by the glass walls, and she looked up, giving Foreman a little wave as he passed. It looked like he'd had a pretty good weekend judging by the exhausted look on his face. She grinned and imagined him heading straight for the coffee maker. Finishing with the mail, she piled the interesting referrals into House's in-box and kicked the half-full trashcan back under his desk. Then, with her coffee in one hand, and a few pieces of mail in the other, she headed out of the office and into the briefing room.

She hadn't seen Chase enter, but he was seated at the table doing the crossword puzzle. Foreman was gone already and she guessed he had gone down to the lab to double check on some results they were waiting for. A patient in the cardiac unit was exhibiting some strange symptoms, but not strange enough to be transferred to their care. They were running some tests to try and decide whether or not they needed to take over his case.

Chase glanced up at her and gave her a blank smile before turning back to his puzzle. Things had gone from strained, to tolerable between them, but she still longed the early days of camaraderie between them. She knew, better than most, how pointless it was to wish for the past, but that didn't stop her from missing it.

"You got a card," Cameron said as she handed it to him. "Is your birthday coming up? I thought it wasn't until January."

"It's a sympathy card," Chase said flatly as he took the large, stiff envelope from her. "For my father."

"Your father?" Cameron's brow crinkled and she tried to read Chase's currently expressionless face.

"He died almost two months ago."

Cameron barely knew the man, but that didn't stop her from feeling affected by such abrupt news of his death. A tingling wave washed over her body, and she looked at Chase with new eyes. Was that why he had been even less like himself? Two months would have been just before her return to the hospital.

"Rob… I'm so sorry," she said, hating her useless words, knowing how hollow they sounded. But what else was she supposed to say? What did people say when they learned someone's father had died? There were only just so many combinations of words, and they all sounded equally canned. No one had ever known what to say to her either. "Was there an accident?" she asked, unable to just leave it with three pointless words of sympathy.

He shook his head. "No. Cancer."

"Cancer," she repeated the word, hating even the sound of it. "How long had you known?"

His face screwed up into an expression close to disgust, and he let out a snort of derision. "I hadn't. I don't think many people had." He paused and raised his eyes from the return address to Cameron's eyes. "Except for House of course. He knew everything, as usual. I guess he didn't think it was important enough to tell me." His hard eyes seemed to burn through hers. "You might want to keep that in mind."

"House knew? How?"

"I guess the old man told him when he was here last year. Or maybe House figured it out for himself and asked him. All I know is my uncle told me he knew."

"I'm sure there--"

"Was a good reason?" Chase cut her off. "Yeah, you've always been good at finding those for him."

"Rob--"

"Hey, you know what? Let's not talk about this any more. You already know I hated my father…"

"I never…"

"…so his death really shouldn't be that big a deal. Right?" He continued talking.

"Did you go back for the funeral?" she asked quietly, choosing to ignore his venom-laced words.

He had been avoiding her gaze, but he finally looked at her face and she watched as some of the attitude leached out of his body.

"No. I went for the memorial mass. It was two weeks ago."

Cameron remembered now. Chase had taken a long weekend, and House hadn't batted an eye about it. Obviously he had known what it was for.

"I really am sorry," she tried those words again, and this time the emotions behind them felt more natural, more real. "I know--"

"What it's like to lose a father you'd barely spoken to in ten years?"

"No. But I know what it feels like to lose someone you love."

Chase wanted to throw some snide remark back at her, but the look on her face, and his own tired mind wouldn't let him. "Well… thanks for the sympathy," he muttered. "I'm going up to check on our patient-to-be."

The fluorescent lights and morning sun sent long shadows swinging across the floor as Chase stood up. Cameron wanted to say something else helpful or sensitive, but she knew they'd only be words. She was sleeping with the man he now blamed for keeping his father's illness from him, and nothing she said was going to change that.

For almost fifteen minutes Cameron sat in the conference room trying to decide whether or not she should go track down House and make him explain himself. Stupid really, and self-centered. It had nothing to do with her. It was between Rob and House and the recently deceased Dr. Chase. Still, she found herself really wanting to know the truth. If House had known about Dr. Chase, why hadn't he told Rob? She didn't really think that doctor-patient confidentiality would have held him back, and she didn't even know if Dr. Chase had come to him in a professional capacity. He had to have known that Rob would be upset… hell, he had to know that was at least part of the reason for the veil of animosity that separated Rob from all of them. Had he at least tried to talk to him after the fact? Had he explained himself? Knowing House, she had a pretty good guess that he hadn't. Ignoring problems was more his style, just like he had ignored her attraction to him.

Her pager went off and it was House, telling her to get up to the patient's room and tell him about his upcoming change in venue. They were going to be taking him down to their department and prepping him for exploratory surgery. She slid the pager back into the pocket of her labcoat and headed for the elevator. Time to work. Pondering the dysfunctional state of the diagnostics department could wait and in the end she was glad she hadn't confronted him. She got a call from the DA that afternoon and she could only deal with one emotional scene at a time.

The call came to her cell phone at exactly four p.m. Clearly she had been a notation in someone's dayplanner. 'Call victim, re: testimony' was how she imagined it looked. She was in the middle of inserting an IV at the time, and ignored the hard vibration against her hip. She didn't get around to checking it until almost four-thirty and when she recognized the number, she considered ignoring it until morning. It had been a long day already and she really wasn't in the mood. Her better nature got the best of her and she slipped away to her little office area to call him back.

"Mr. Atherton? This is Allison Cameron. I just got your message." She sat down as she started to speak, and fiddled with the pens on her desk.

"Dr. Cameron, thank you for calling so quickly."

"Has something happened? When you called me last week, you said everything was going well." Miranda rights and technicalities and insufficient evidence rattled around in her head.

"It is. It is. That's why I'm calling. A court date has opened up and we're going to be able to push the trial up to next week."

"Next week?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as breathless to him as it did to her. "I thought it was going to be a few more months."

"Started out that way, but occasionally the wheels of justice actually do turn swiftly. Usually people have one of two preconceptions about trials. Either their over in a day like some episode of 'Law and Order' or they drag on for years like the OJ trial. The truth is, this is pretty standard."

"So now…" she let the words hang. She already knew what was expected of her now.

"So now I'll need you to come in sometime tomorrow to go over your testimony. We've got a mound of evidence but victim testimony is always invaluable."

Cameron looked up and saw House walking through the door into his own office. He moved towards his desk and out of her line of sight, but she kept staring at the place where he had been. She fought the desire to get up and go to him. Every time mention of her attack came up, she sought him out like a touchstone. It had all happened to her, but in a strange way it had happened to them both, and his quiet support over his simmering anger helped her stay focused.

She tightened her grip on the phone and turned to look out the window. "I should be able to get away for a little while tomorrow. What time did you want me?"

"I'm in court in the morning, but I free up at one. Will that work for you?"

The trees outside were being buffeted by a strong wind. A cold front was moving in. Cameron watched as a few pale green leaves tore free and spiraled to the ground.

"One. That should be fine," she replied, trying to remember if she had clinic duty then. She'd have to swap with Eric if she did.

"All right then. I'll see you at one. It shouldn't take long. We'll meet at my office. You know where the courthouse is?"

A stupid question, but one he had to ask. Of course she knew where the courthouse was. She was an educated doctor, not some unsophisticated kid. Not some woman from a bad part of the city who probably walked down the street expecting to be attacked. The last of the leaves hit the ground and skimmed along the grass.

"I know where it is. Is your name listed in the lobby?"

"Yes, but just ask the guard at the front of the building and he'll direct you up."

"Thanks. I'll see you then," and she was pleased that her voice had regained some strength and didn't have that thin, airy quality she despised.

He said his polite goodbyes and Cameron hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, nestled between a prescription pad and a bottle of painkillers that she carried just in case. She stayed in her chair, watching the trees and the clouds until the muffled sound of House opening the connecting door made her swivel around.

Her face still held that faraway look, and House's expression changed as a result, going from vaguely bored to questioning. But he didn't ask any questions.

"Looks like our friend Mr. Sinclair is responding to treatment. We should be able to blow this popcorn stand early as long as Cuddy isn't prowling the halls. You wanna grab something to eat? I think my kitchen needs restocking."

The casual invitation was so natural, but so far from what she had imagined a year ago or even two months ago. It was a welcome piece of stability and she tucked it away for safekeeping.

"Sounds good," she answered, gathering her pocketbook from beneath her desk and shrugging out of her lab coat as she rose.

House made a show of playing 'secret agent' as they walked towards the elevator, leading Cameron to crack a grin which he was relieved to see. He didn't like it when she got too thoughtful, and she had definitely looked thoughtful when he'd found her in her office.

"Atherton called me," she said as they walked through the garage, shoes and cane echoing in the cavernous space, and almost drowning out her voice.

Damn. Well, that explained it.

"What'd he have to say? They skipping the trial and going right to the execution." Every time the subject was broached he slipped in his not very subtle revenge fantasies.

"He needs me to go to his office tomorrow afternoon. To go over testimony."

They reached his car and he unlocked her door but then stood there, waiting for her to finish.

"Trial starts next week," she said, looking up at him before looking back at the door handle and her thin fingers gripping it.

His warm hand covered her ice-cold fingers and she looked back up at him.

"You wanna just go back to my place and scrounge for food?"

"Nope," she answered after a moment of thought. "I want to go get stuffed full of Mexican food and margaritas and then screw like rabbits until we both pass out."

The slightest twitch of House's jaw was the only indication that her proposal was anything but what he expected. He pressed down on her hand for a beat and then scuffed around to his side of the car.

"Sounds like a plan."

He was wondering if she was planning on getting drunk enough that she wouldn't dream. That was certainly one way of dealing. He was ready for either eventuality, and it no longer shocked him that he wasn't plotting a speedy escape.


	30. Chapter 29

_Only one chapter left after this! Well... actually, there may be an epilogue as well... I just want to take a minute to thank everyone who has joined me on this loooong ride... April28th I started posting this story, and now, four months later it is finally drawing to a close. Through that time I've had the pleasure of emailing with some wonderful people, reading inspiring and blush-inducing reviews and enjoying a welcome return of my creativity. I've also faced a health crisis, and been met with such caring words of support that I'm sure they (and my desire not to hold you all in suspense!) helped me to start back on the road to recovery. In short (yes, I know, too late) you have all given me countless smiles and warm-fuzzy feelings along with constructive criticism and thoughtful commentary. Thank you all so much for your support... I hope you find the last few chapters of this epic story as satisfactory as the previous 28._

Chapter29

Cameron still hadn't gotten used to the sound of her own stifled cries waking her up. Even when accompanied by House's sleep-rough voice and hard palm against her jaw she was still disoriented at first and had a tendency to either curl into herself or strike out. She'd spotted a bruise on House's shoulder once, and another on his shin, but he never mentioned them. Night sliding into day turned him into an amnesiac that way.

He'd dropped her off at her place so that she could shower, get another change of clothes and drive her own car into work. She'd need it later when she went to the courthouse. She hadn't noticed the scratch on his neck until she went to kiss him goodbye. Fingers, two nails lightly tipped with red, went to reach for it, but he caught them and kissed her fiercely, then let out one of his endless supply of one-liners and sent her on her way. She didn't look down at her hand again until after she was clean.

She pulled into the hospital garage a few minutes late by her clock, but still earlier than just about everyone else. House was there, and she thought she spotted Dr. Cuddy's silver Mercedes, but that was it. She parked in her usual spot, half-way down the fourth row, so that she could get a little extra walk even though there were spots open closer to the doors. The eerily cavernous space with it's flickering lights and strange shadows should have unnerved her, but she felt safer there than most places. No one could possibly sneak up on her with all that echoing.

"Good morning, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy greeted her with a friendly smile as she approached the main desk in the clinic. "House beat you in. You really are a good influence on him."

"I try," she replied, pushing the past and the near future out of her mind and concentrating on the immediate present. Her quick grin wasn't as bright as usual, but Cuddy wasn't one to notice things like that.

"I sent a patient file over to him. See if you can get him to admit the woman."

A slow turn, and raised brow. "You don't really think I have that much influence on him, do you?" she asked with a tone of light disbelief.

Cuddy released a rare chuckle. "No, not really."

They parted and Cameron took the stairs up to the diagnostics department. She still needed to burn off the nervous energy that refused to leave her. The hallway leading to the department was still quiet and unpopulated aside from one nurse who looked like she was on a mission. House wasn't in his office though, so she couldn't be running from him. Cameron smirked at the thought. House's snide way with the hospital staff had never amused her before but now she had to admit that she found it funny. Maybe it was because she was now on the inside… or at least on the front porch hovering on the threshold.

Pushing through the door into her office, Cameron's pace slowed for a step and then she started forward again, eyes fixed on her desk. There was a travel-cup sitting in the middle of it, with a white index card propped against it. It was the kind they sold at Starbucks, covered with a pattern of girly looking flowers. Cameron could see the vestiges of dissolving whipped cream poking through the opening in the lid and she sat down and took a sip. Mocha. With a shot of caramel. She'd gotten one just like it on the drive to Atlantic city, only she hadn't sprung for the overpriced fourteen dollar cup. She turned over the index card and felt herself finally relaxing. All it said was 'Good Morning', written in a familiar scrawl, but she stared at it for a minute and then tucked it into her pocketbook.

She was just finishing the last of the coffee when Foreman and Chase arrived, followed almost immediately by House, who passed out patient charts and took his place by the whiteboard, waiting for Cameron to move from her office area to the conference room at large. His eyes flicked from the cup in her hands to her face, but they didn't linger. Just a quick look to gauge her mood before moving on to the first differential diagnosis of the day.

"You need to get going." House almost, but not quite, bumped shoulders with her as she stood looking down into the microscope.

"It's not that far."

"Traffic during lunch hour is a bitch."

She sighed and looked up. "You're right," she admitted.

"You're coming back afterwards?"

"Shouldn't take that long. He's already heard it all before."

House knew that, which was one of the reasons he was irritated about her having to repeat herself again. Rationally, he understood the necessity, but the DA wasn't the one dealing with her in the middle of the night and dabbing neosporin on his neck in the morning.

They were silent as they walked to the diagnostics department. Cameron wondered if House was going to ask her again if she wanted him to go with her. She hoped not. She wanted to go alone but wasn't sure if she could refuse him a second time. When he broke step with her to head into his own office while she continued on, she was slightly relieved.

Foreman and Chase were down in the cafeteria so there was no one there to tease her about going out for lunch. She grabbed keys and pocketbook and headed back out the door. She wasn't going to look into House's office as she passed, but the sound of something hitting the glass wall startled her into turning her head. It was House's tennis ball, now bouncing along the floor after what had to have been a light toss. House wasn't looking at it or her. He had his feet propped on his desk, and one hand occupied by a gossip-rag magazine. In his other hand he held his cell phone, and as she watched, he flipped it open, flipped it closed, and placed it into his shirt pocket. Cameron bit her lip and squared her shoulders before continuing down the hall. She was very glad that she spoke House.

The clinic was much busier than the last time she'd been through it, but Cameron slipped through with just a nod to a couple of the nurses. She didn't notice that she was breathing hard until she got her first breath of exhaust-laden air in the garage. A quick glance at her watch and she paused and centered herself before setting off towards her car. She had half an hour to go the twelve miles to Trenton.

House was right about the traffic, and she was glad he'd pushed her to leave. Just getting out of Princeton took almost ten minutes, and the Mercer County Courthouse was in the center of the city. A few quick minutes on the freeway and she was back in traffic and crawling along the lunch-crowded streets. Parking was impossible to find and she circled the block twice before a space freed up. She didn't really want to be there in the first place, and she'd be damned if she was going to pay fifteen dollars to park in the municipal garage.

The courthouse was all stone and concrete, with the thick walls looking in need of sandblasting, and the sun high above glinting off its enormous windows and pillared entrance. It wasn't the biggest building she'd seen. It could have been a university library or a museum, with its neatly manicured patch of grass and shrubs, and its wide steps leading up to the front doors. It was far smaller than the hospital, and not as grim looking as the police station, but at the moment it was imposing in a way that made her feel weak and embarrassed. Cameron looked at her watch again and hurried across the street, still not sure why she was rushing. She was a minute late, but it wasn't as if she was running to class or to work. She wasn't the one in trouble here. It was annoying how often she had to remind herself of that.

There were people milling around outside on the sidewalk and steps. A mother with two kids, looking nervous, perfectly dressed, clutching them closer, afraid she might lose them. Three men in suits bargaining over their palm pilots, scribbling numbers and figures. Lawyers and clients, innocent bystanders, witnesses, victims, and Allison Cameron. She walked up the steps and into the heavily air-conditioned building, suppressing a shudder as the pleasant heat from the sun immediately abandoned her. Inside, the front of the lobby was bordered by metal detectors, and she passed through one of them, giving a tight nod to the guard standing in front of it. The hard, polished stone floor echoed even louder than the cement in the hospital garage, and she walked a little slower and a little lighter, trying to minimize the sound of her footsteps. There was a large information desk with another guard sitting behind it and she approached him and angled her head towards the elevators.

"I'm supposed to meet with the Assistant District Attorney… Mr. Atherton… he said you'd know…"

"Just take the elevator right up the third floor, ma'am. His office is at the end of the hall. He just went up a few minutes ago."

"Thanks," Cameron replied without really looking at him, and stepped towards the art deco inspired bank of elevators.

Cameron was grateful that no one else got onto hers, and she was soon walking down a carpeted hallway lined with office doors that proudly displayed name and rank within the court system. Atherton's office was the second from the end, right next to the District Attorney's.

The door was wide open, and he saw her as she approached and was on his feet and extending a hand towards her as she stepped inside.

"Dr. Cameron. Thank you for coming down. I'll try not to keep you long. I'm sure you have patients who need you."

"Just one, right now," she replied, for lack of anything else to say.

He led her to a comfortable chair, offered to get her water, tea, soda, coffee. She shook her head to all of them and perched stiffly at the edge of her seat. Her pocketbook rested on her lap, and she clasped her hands around it, the professional female version of a stuffed bear.

Atherton was experienced with dealing with victims. He'd started off in the criminal court and never left, unlike many of his colleagues who burned out after seeing one to many broken bodies. Some living. Some dead. The woman sitting before him looked stronger than many he'd seen, but signs of her current fragility weren't hard to spot.

"The trial should only last a few days, and I'll call you the day before you're scheduled to testify. It will probably be the second day of the trial as long as Mr. Prentis' lawyer doesn't try for another plea bargain."

"Plea bargain?" Cameron wasn't stupid and her voice rose at the idea that he could plead down to a lesser charge.

"Don't worry. There's nothing he has that we need. He could write a confession and tie it with a bow and it wouldn't matter. Between the evidence and your testimony we have an extremely solid case."

Cameron nodded and pressed her lips together, a little startled by her own outburst.

"Now, I'm just going to ask you the same questions I'll be asking you on the stand, and then I'll go over what his lawyer is likely to ask you, if he even decides to cross-examine. He might decide that hearing you talk more will only dig a deeper hole for his client." He tilted his head to catch Cameron's eye and make sure she was still listening. "You know there were pictures taken of you following the attack."

"Yes…" the muffled sound of her own voice irritated her, and she cleared her throat softly and repeated herself. "Yes. I was pretty out of it, but the investigator said they'd be used as evidence."

"Correct. They'll be entered just before you testify. You will not have to see them," he assured her, "and only the jury, the judge and the lawyers will look at them."

Somehow the thought that only twelve to eighteen people would get to see her broken, naked body failed to give her any comfort. Her knuckles turned white as she nodded that she understood. She kept nodding as he explained how the rest of the session would go, and then he gave her what she knew was supposed to be an encouraging smile before asking her the questions that had answers she wanted to forget.

When he had finished, she had a tissue in her hands, shredded but unused, and two flaming spots on her otherwise preternaturally pale face. The light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out in stark contrast to her skin, and her eyes had shaded from blue to grey, the spark completely deadened by the effort needed to keep every emotion in check.

Atherton's sincere thanks and words of praise for her bravery and strength were designed to make her feel better while easing his own twinge of guilt for causing her distress. Cameron tried to give him a kind smile in return, but she knew it had to look tense and out of place on her face. The words he gave to her were too similar to words she'd given to patients time and again when they were forced to undergo painful procedures. She always meant them, and she was sure he did too, but now she knew just how ineffectual they were.

He walked her to the elevator and they shook hands again, and then she fled the building and the city as quickly as she could, pointing her car back to Princeton and home.

* * *

House's mood after Cameron's departure turned quickly dark as he kept himself isolated in his office. He alternated between playing game after mindless game of Tetris and obsessing over old case files. When he eventually dropped by the conference room to get an update on Mrs. Drake's condition he didn't hide his scowl or his dangerously sharp eyes. They were warning cues that Foreman caught but Chase ignored. 

"How's she doing?" he asked, cane punctuating his speech.

"So far, so good. She should be stable for surgery tomorrow," Foreman said, taking one look at House's face before looking back at the chart he was updating. Cameron's absence and House's growl. It didn't take a stretch of imagination to connect the two.

"Yes," Chase said and then continued snidely "She was asking where Cameron was, but I see you've given her the afternoon off." In fact their patient hadn't asked for Cameron, but that didn't stop Chase from putting in his little dig. It was a miscalculation on his part and Foreman gathered his paperwork as House pounded his way over to the conference table and slammed his cane down on the surface.

"Well obviously she'd rather have Dr. Cameron looking after her than a floppy haired rat-bastard," House spat.

Foreman slipped out as quickly as possible and didn't look back. Chase stood up and looked like he was finally ready to go toe-to-toe with his boss. At the last moment he changed his mind and spun around, tipping over a chair as he did so and stalking towards the door.

"Chase!" House shouted, surprising the younger doctor enough to turn around.

"What?" he shouted back.

House had his cane in his hand again and was more than prepared to use it as a bat, but he took two steps forward and just stopped. He leaned on the sturdy wood and used his other hand to sweep across his tension-lined face. How long was this going to go on? Why had he let it get this far? Just because he enjoyed being pushed into reacting? He was pushed enough by other things. He didn't need this. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and then dropped his hand and looked up.

"I'm sorry about your father."

If there were any words Chase was less expecting to hear, he couldn't think of them, and it took him a second to react.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, infusing them with a venom he didn't quite feel at the moment.

"He was a good doctor. You take after him."

"I take after my mother."

House released a tired sounding sigh and took another step. "Chase, it wasn't my secret to tell," he said, cutting right to the point.

"And that's always stopped you in the past," Chase scoffed. "He was dying and you didn't think I deserved to know. Or maybe you just liked knowing more than everyone else."

"No. I wish I hadn't figured it out. But what would you have done if I'd told you?"

Chase opened his mouth but nothing came out and he snapped it shut again.

"Tried to make up for lost time, maybe? Pretended none of those bad years happened? Spent six months cursing him for not being the father you wanted?"

"It would have been my choice."

"And keeping it a secret was his. He knew what would really happen. You'd have spent six extra months mourning the father you'd already lost twenty years ago. He was trying to do something right for a change. Watching someone die really isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Chase remained silent but his posture had gone from adversarial to merely sullen. Their eyes met and caught for just an instant. Understanding didn't pass between them, but there were shades of acceptance. Chase thrust his hands into his labcoat pockets and House stood up straighter, losing some of his sympathetic attitude as he switched subjects.

"As to where Dr. Cameron is, she's at the courthouse in Trenton going over some of the worst moments of her life. Unless you want to start experiencing some bad moments of your own, you'll leave her the hell alone, now and in the future."

A slight acknowledgement from Chase and House turned and started walking towards the connecting door.

"Dr. House."

He looked back over his shoulder. "Yes? Something else you needed to get off your chest?"

"He was a good doctor."

House stared straight into the young doctor's face. "One of the best," was all he said before continuing on his path to the solitude of his office.

* * *

House preferred the hospital hallways to be empty. No people meant that he wouldn't be stopped by anyone, and he could stretch out his limping gait without danger of wacking someone with a cane. The diagnostics department was located away from any hospital hot-spots so usually he got his wish within his own domain. The lab, on the other hand, with its glass walls and dim lighting, was right at the crossroads of four intersecting hallways. Today, however, seemed to be his lucky day. He walked from lab to elevator, un-harassed, and when he stepped off and started for his office he spotted only two doctors, conversing near a potted plant, and a nurse who was busy cataloguing supplies. Chase and Foreman were with the patient, Cuddy was in a meeting, life was good. Except for the fact that he had the annoying urge to talk to someone. Anyone, really. Anything to drown out the sound of his own voice. He almost did the unthinkable and headed back down to the clinic. 

The nurse turned towards him when she heard his footsteps, but she knew him well enough not to bother voicing any pleasantries. In his current mood, her glance alone was enough to set House off and he had just opened his mouth to make a trademark snide comment and ease his tension when the phone in his pocket started sending "Put on A Happy Face." Cameron's idea of a little joke during their weekend away. A month later and he still hadn't found the time to change it. Or so he said.

He pulled the phone out and answered it while moving with uncommon grace towards his office. It was the nurse's lucky day too.

"House," he tried not to make it sound snappy, but his clipped tone didn't allow for much else.

"It's me."

Pushing the door closed, he locked it and then took the two steps to his chair and sat down. He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee instead of swinging both legs onto the ottoman like he usually did. The tense muscle in his forearm bunched and flexed with rhythmic regularity.

"All right?"

"I'm on my way back." She sounded drained but not tearful.

"We've scheduled Mrs. Drake for surgery tomorrow morning. We're just watching her until then. You can just go home. If you want." Sentences short but not pithy. He hated when words abandoned him.

"No. I'll just work in the clinic then. I'd rather…" I'd rather not have to hear myself anymore. I'd rather be around people. I'd rather be around you.

"I should probably put in a few more hours there myself. Cuddy's liable to blow a gasket if I don't start catching up." Such a nice lie, nestled amongst the truth.

"You'd rather poke yourself in the eye with a fork than willingly work the clinic," Cameron said. Her voice sounded lighter. He could see her eyes clearing.

"There's where you're wrong. I'd rather scoop them out with a spoon. Forks are off the table."

The laugh that answered him was very soft and sounded as if it was being pushed out against its will, but he was still glad to hear it.

"Meet you there?" He had regained his equilibrium and his voice sounded familiar to his ear again.

"Fifteen minutes," she answered.

"Don't be late."

"I won't be."


	31. Chapter 30

_Wow... the last real chapter. Bittersweet in a way... this story has been a constant for four whole months! At the same time, I find myself really pleased with how it grew from what I intended to be a relatively short "yes I admit it, I like you" story, to this intricate unfolding of their relationship. I hope that everyone else has enjoyed the ride too, and I thank you all for being such sources of encouragement! And a special note... I just noticed that this story has been added to two House communities! I'm completely honored... thank you!_

_I'm writing the epilogue now and it will be posted on Tuesday night! _

Chapter 30

James Wilson had a morning routine. Actually his entire life was governed by routine, disturbed only by House's occasional quirkiness, but mornings were particularly well ordered. Wake at six, give wife a chaste kiss goodbye at seven, arrive at the hospital at seven thirty. Check patients, read mail, and, depending on the type of morning it was, get one of two kinds of coffee. If it was a good morning, he waited a little while and went to the cafeteria for cappuccino. If it was a bad morning, he drank the sludge in the oncology department lounge. Friday morning was a bad one, but it was the end of the week so he compromised by going to the diagnostics department with his plain white mug. The coffee there was always good.

He swung through House's office on the way, but found his computer still off and his chair still pushed under the desk. He took the time to hide House's ball in the bottom drawer, just to mess with him, and moved on to the department conference room. Foreman and Chase weren't there, but he was mildly surprised to see Cameron sitting at her desk in her little office area. He'd held off on teasing House about it, but he'd noticed that he and Cameron had been driving in together almost every day. He also knew that her attacker's trial was due to start in two days. He'd assumed she'd been staying close to House after hours. She had been acting perfectly normal around the office. She and Chase had even had civil discussions within his earshot. But he'd also caught her sitting alone more often than usual and down in the lab testing the equipment.

At the moment, her dark head was bowed over the file she was reading and he considered backing out of the room before disturbing her but some sixth sense alerted her to his presence and she lifted her eyes and turned towards him.

"Dr. Wilson," she greeted him with seeming cheerfulness. "Looking for Dr. House? He's not in yet." Despite the fact that the three of them had eaten dinner at House's place and even gone to a baseball game together, Cameron persisted in calling him Dr. Wilson within the hospital walls.

"Ah… yes, I saw that." He scrambled to pull his thoughts together and push the personal questions to the back before they spilled out of his mouth.

She had never spoken about the attack with him or any one else in the hospital as far as he knew, and he didn't think she was going to be open to words of sympathy now. The way she was sitting reminded him of near-child gymnasts his second wife had forced him to watch on television. Perfectly controlled, perfectly contained, but always on the verge of snapping under the weight of everyone's stares.

He waved towards the coffee pot. "I really just came down for the coffee," he said, words trailing off as he saw that the pot was empty.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I didn't get around to making any yet."

Crap. Now he felt like an asshole who expected her to make the coffee for the manly men of the office.

"No!" It came out a bit more forcefully than he intended and she looked slightly startled and a little bit amused. "I mean, That's all right. It's not exactly on your review. I'll just head down to the cafeteria."

"Are you sure? It only takes a minute."

"I'm sure… you go back to what you were doing."

Cameron looked at him hard for a second, as if trying to figure something out, and then settled herself back into her chair. "All right. Should I tell House you stopped by?"

"Sure, make him feel needed," Wilson said lightly, backing away from more dangerous verbal territory. He didn't make it two steps towards the door before wading right back in again when he glanced over her and asked, "You holding up okay? I mean… with everything?"

She stared past him before moving her gaze to his face. The emotion swirling just below the surface was visible even from across the room. "Yeah. I'm fine," she told him in a carefully modulated tone. "Thanks for asking."

He bobbed his head, accepting her answer, while realizing that she really was a terrible liar. Then he tapped the rim of his still empty mug and walked out of the room.

* * *

"Cameron seems a little… tired… today," Wilson said. It was an artless segue after bantering over baseball stats. 

House studiously flicked the sesame seeds off of his hamburger roll. "She's probably not sleeping well," he replied. "That's the most common explanation."

Wilson knew he was stepping around landmines and hoped he wouldn't get a limb blown… or torn… off. "I had the impression that you would know that for sure."

It was a struggle not to immediately look away when House glared at him.

"Impressions can be wrong."

"House…" It was his best, reasonable, wheedling tone. The tone that said "c'mon buddy, just 'fess up." Sometimes it worked and sometimes it earned him a cold shoulder for a week.

"We haven't spent the night together since last week," House said sharply.

"Really?" Wilson sounded concerned and surprised. "I thought the two of you… and with the trial this week…"

House snorted and stabbed at the floor with his cane. "The trial has put her right back where she was three months ago. She was thrashing around the bed last week and nailed my leg. I tried to ignore the blinding pain, but she couldn't. She's made excuses to stay at her place since then, and I have not been invited to join the slumber party."

"Jesus," Wilson hissed.

"I'm pretty sure he didn't have anything to do with it, and aren't you supposed to be Jewish?"

Wilson shot him a look and drew in a long, thoughtful breath. "She's shutting you out."

"No shit," House spat back. "Tell me something I don't already know."

"Okay. You're in love with her."

A sort of helpless resignation dropped over House's face, and one corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "Yeah, I know that too."

Wilson sat back, absorbing this new information. He'd almost expected House to deny it, but the man treated it as if it was common knowledge. Calling House on his attraction was one thing. Offering unsolicited dating advice was something else. Hanging out with them and watching House grab her hand when he thought no one was watching, was something else again. But hearing House admit that he loved some one? He had figured he'd be old and grey before those words ever passed House's lips.

"Shouldn't you be happier about that?" he asked.

The power of those blue eyes bored into him for a second before flickering out. House blinked and rolled his eyes; a trick that gave him time to bring his shields up again.

"Right. Because being in love with a woman who's falling apart is such a heady trip," he said with mock cheerfulness. Then, suddenly dead serious, "I'll save happiness for later."

"You don't know how to help her."

"Again, with the information I'm already familiar with," House sniped.

"Well I'm sure she's not doing it to spite you," Wilson sniped back, a spark of annoyance flaring. "Or maybe she is. You know, the world does revolve around you."

House just stared at him before letting his head droop and staring at the cane he now had balanced on his knees.

"Sorry." Wilson was always one to feel guilty, even without cause.

"If it weren't for this fucking leg…" House muttered. If he was healthy and whole she could have beat him in her sleep and he wouldn't have made a sound.

"She would have found another excuse, Greg. It's her, not you. You know that, right? This is her way of protecting both of you and proving she still has some control over her life."

House looked up and eyed Wilson, suspiciously. "You been researching psych cases?"

Wilson shrugged and his mouth curved into a self-deprecating smirk. "No. Julie's addicted to the Lifetime network. It's impossible not to pick up a few things."

House nodded and refrained from shooting off any humorous insults.

"Things are bound to get better again after the trial," Wilson tried to sound hopeful.

"Yeah. I just don't think I can wait that long."

* * *

The trial started on Wednesday. Cameron got the call early that morning that she would be expected in court the next day at ten a.m. Mrs. Drake died an hour later. 

She went into a grand mal seizure and then experienced a heart attack. They worked for twenty minutes to bring her back and then House called it at eleven thirty-seven. They still didn't know what underlying condition had caused all of her symptoms. She was the first patient they'd lost in over a month and as usual, House retreated to his office, pulled the blinds, slipped on his headphones and stared at the now-useless file. Foreman volunteered to take a shift in the clinic, Chase disappeared to the lab, and Cameron sat at her desk staring at the screensaver on her computer, contemplating the wording of a condolence letter and refusing to think about the trial. Refusing to think about the fact that the person she wanted to have holding her and telling her that everything… patient deaths and rapists and pitying jurors… everything would be all right, was sitting on the other side of the wall.

She felt as if she hadn't really seen him in almost a week despite the fact that they'd had dinner together almost every night and sat through two movies on Saturday afternoon. She spent the time acting as if everything was perfect and he followed her lead and did the same, but as soon as dinner was finished or the movie ended, she made her excuses and drove back across town to her apartment. She could be strong during the day, but it was asking too much for her to carry that strength into the night, and she couldn't let herself hurt him again. She'd get better after the trial. After the trial things could go back to normal. Damn, she hated this. She hated feeling like she'd taken five giant steps backwards. She hated that after almost two months with only sporadic thoughts of the bastard she refused to name in her head, she was back to having night terrors.

Half an hour later she was stills staring at a swirling pattern of colors and hadn't typed a word. She turned off her computer, stood up and crossed to House's office. A soft tap on the door and then she let herself in. He was sitting with his face buried in a medical textbook but he looked up when she entered. The hard look in his eyes dulled a bit and he tilted his head, motioning her in.

"What's up?" They seemed like nice safe words.

"Nothing," she replied, affecting a light tone that she didn't feel at all. "It's only four, but we don't have another patient and Dr. Cuddy seems to have everything covered down in the clinic. I thought I'd head home."

"What about dinner?" A not very subtle invitation.

She shook her head. "Not tonight, okay? With everything… and tomorrow…"

"I'm still picking you up at nine thirty?" He posed it as a question, even though it really wasn't one. He'd told her that he was going to court with her and she hadn't even attempted to argue about it.

"Nine thirty is fine," she answered, following up with a little sigh. "I'm…"

"Don't apologize," he practically barked out. He took a breath. "It's almost over," he continued, a bit calmer.

She raised her eyebrows and a wry grin slipped into place and just as quickly away. "That's what I keep telling myself."

He hoped that his expression was somewhat supportive looking, but he felt like it was probably some half-assed, half-stoned look. Nevertheless, Cameron approached him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek before hurrying out of the office. He bent back over his textbook and didn't watch her go.

Seven o'clock rolled around and he was still at the hospital. He wasn't interested in spending another night home alone, wondering what Cameron was doing half a city away. When he finally did get into his car he sat in it for a full five minutes before putting the key in the ignition and when he sped out of the garage he was not heading towards his townhouse.

* * *

When Cameron got home, she immediately showered and changed into soft cotton pajamas. Fifteen minutes after that she was picking at a microwave dinner, watching mindless television and waiting for sound that would tell her that her coffee was finished brewing. She flipped through fifty channels before stopping on the news and tossing the remote to the other end of the sofa. She was going to give herself attention deficit disorder at this rate. 

A loud beep emanated from the kitchen and she wearily stood up and set her plate on the coffee table. She was in the middle of the dining room when another sound reached her ears. Knocking. Wood against wood. She bit her lip and squared her shoulders. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be pretty.

She opened the door and House was there, cane raised in one hand, eyes staring resolutely into her face.

"I was just eating," she said.

"That's all right. I'm not hungry."

"House. Please… go home. I can't do this right now."

"What happened to you… happened to you. But this…" his gesture encompassed everything. "This is happening to us. I'm not there for a whole hell of a lot of people, Allison. I'm here for you. Now are you going to let me in or are you going to push me down the stairs?"

She didn't push him down the stairs.

He passed through the doorway as she backed up, and then his eyes swept over the living room, taking in the pillow and blanket on the sofa.

"New sleeping quarters?" he asked as he heard the door click shut.

"I like having the tv on." _And it keeps me from sleeping too deeply._

They stared at each other with an awkwardness that hadn't been part of their relationship for a long time.

"Want something to drink? I just made coffee."

"No thanks. Let's talk."

Jaw set, eyes defiant, she stared up at him. "I let you in. Isn't that enough?"

"You let me in your apartment."

A burst of humorless laughter pushed out of her mouth. "The king of closed-off wants me to open up?"

Her words stung in a way he didn't want to admit, but he ignored it. "Allison, come here." He held out his free arm and waggled his fingers.

She backed up a step. "No."

"Come. Here."

"I said no! I don't want to do this, so just stop it! I can do this… just let me get through this on my own! I don't need help!"

"I don't give a fuck if you need help. I'm sure that you don't. I'm sure that you could toss and turn all night, cry into your pillow, go into court alone tomorrow and come back out again still in one piece. It isn't about needing… it's about wanting. I want to be here for you. If you don't want that, then tell me and I'll hobble out your door and back to my place and you can call me after the trial and we can go back to dating and screwing and never really needing or wanting anything else." He was shouting he realized and Cameron's eyes were wide and grey, her face drained of blood. He lowered his head and stared at the floor while he took two deep breaths. "Otherwise," he said slowly, "otherwise, come here and let me put my fucking arms around you."

The lines across her forehead had deepened into furrows, and she was breathing heavily through her nose, lips still pressed tightly together, but when House held his arm out again, this time she moved towards him instead of away. Three small, slow steps, and one last rush before she was pressing her face against his shoulder, fingers grasping at his half-unbuttoned shirt.

"I hate this! I hate it!" She cried. "Why can't it just be over? I'm tired of thinking about it… tired of talking about it… I don't want to see him again. He'll be sitting there in a suit and tie… staring at me. They'll all be staring at me! Looking at me like I'm helpless and pitiful! Maybe I am… look at me. I'm a wreck. I can't even sleep through the night in my own bed! I can't stop remembering… it feels like it gets clearer every time I dream and I just want to forget about it all!"

House's eyes were closed and he let her talk herself out, holding her a bit tighter every second. One hand pressed between her shoulder blades, and the other at the small of her back, the smooth wood of his cane caught between his palm and her body.

"You're not helpless. You're not weak," he said after her words devolved into tears and then into muffled sniffling and hiccups.

"I hate that too," she said, sounding less upset but bitter.

"What?"

"Making you repeat the same thing to me over and over as if I'm starved for validation."

Where the hell did she come up with that? House decided not to use those exact words. "Aside from your nightmares you've cried on my shoulder exactly three times. Including right now. If you think that's asking too much of me then I guess your expectations of me are even lower than I thought they should be."

Cameron was startled by the tone of his voice. It was a self-loathing she hadn't heard in months. She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "I didn't mean it like that. I just don't like myself when I'm like this."

"I know," he replied, "but being here is more than an obligation for me. You matter to me. This… we… matter to me," he said, his voice growing rough and trailing off.

She stared into his face for another minute before reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips. "Watch tv with me until I get sleepy?"

"Planning on kicking me out when that happens?"

"No. Planning on taking you to bed and letting you hold me."

* * *

_So this is what this feels like._

It was early; very early, and House was staring down at the top of Cameron's head when a word attached itself to what he was feeling. Happy. Not dancing in the street singing a song happy, or Monster Truck happy, or even pulled-one-over-on-Cuddy happy. This was the kind of happy that blocked his throat and pressed against the backs of his eyes. It had been so long since the last time he felt anything that even resembled the emotion that was thrumming through him now, that it had been difficult to place at first. In a corner of his mind he considered that it was fairly twisted to be feeling this kind of happiness when the woman in his arms had struggled out of a nightmare less than five hours earlier, but he couldn't find one cell in his body that would agree to pushing aside the sweet pain in his chest.

Cameron moved slightly and he studied her face for any sign of distress. For the first time, he had been able to soothe her out of her dreams without waking her, and he imagined that the smudges under her eyes were half a shade lighter this morning.

"I never want to get out of this bed," came her soft voice, somewhat muffled in the folds of his t-shirt.

"Neither do I, but eventually someone will come looking for us. Probably Wilson. Possibly Cuddy. Off chance of Foreman. Chase… well, if he's got nothing better to do."

She gave a short laugh and then a sigh. "He actually seemed better this week," she said. "I suppose maybe it's because of the trial." She had tried to keep it all very low-key, but the trial was in the news and this time her name wasn't left out of the reports. Rape victims were apparently more deserving of privacy than victims of attempted murder, and the police had released the fact that she hadn't been raped like the woman Prentis had ended up killing.

"I talked to him," House told her. "We… talked." Then, a second later, "Not about you," he amended.

Cameron smoothed her hand over his chest. "Good. It was getting pretty uncomfortable. I like it when we're all getting along."

"Of course you do. That's because you're such a nice person," he said in a teasing tone of voice.

She slapped him lightly on the stomach but didn't disagree. For another few minutes nothing else was said and then House shifted and a stab of pain went through his leg causing him to wince. Cameron rolled off the bed and groped for his pants which had been tossed on the floor. The tell-tale rattle gave away his pills' location and she fished them out and tossed the bottle to him.

"I think you did that just to get me out of bed," she said as she watched him swallow.

"Yes, I can always rely on your pity for a decrepit old man."

She pursed her lips and gave an exaggerated scowl.

"Go take your shower. I'll make coffee," he said as he eased his legs over the side of the bed.

"What if I told you I don't want to go?" she asked.

House let his eyes wander over her face, settling on her thoughtful eyes. "I'd say, 'Fine. Let's catch a plane to Tahiti.' But you'd never tell me that."

One, two breaths, and then she blinked slowly. "No. I guess I never would."

House was dressed in the clothes from the previous day and coffee was waiting on her bedside table when Cameron emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair and a robe tied snugly around her body. House bent and kissed her forehead in passing before going to the living room to wait for her, somehow knowing that she needed time alone to get herself ready for the day ahead.

A few minutes later, he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway looking uneasy but so determined that it made his hand clench around his cane in sympathy. She wore a black skirt suit with a pale blue blouse, buttoned to the neck. He wondered for a second if she'd worn the same outfit to her husband's funeral, but of course not; that had been years ago. Still, comparisons between the two events ticked through his mind. Cameron, forced to be strong while scrutinized. Then, by family and friends. Now, by total strangers. And him. He imagined she'd looked the same. Beautiful and brave.

"I'm ready," she announced unnecessarily, and he joined her at the door.

They stopped at his place so that he could take a shower and change. This time Cameron was the one waiting in the living room, paging through medical journals and an art book of Joyce Tenneson photographs. She had the same one on her bookshelf. She didn't realize she'd been staring at the same image for five minutes until House's subtle throat-clear pulled her out of her mind. Looking up, she felt her heart seize as she took in the image of House, perfectly dressed in navy suit, white shirt, navy tie. If anyone had asked her why it had that effect on her, she would not have been able to answer in words, only knowing that it had something to do with the way he held himself and the way he was so obviously dressed that way for her benefit; not just as her protector, but as her partner, lover and friend.

"Something wrong? Spot on the jacket?" he asked, making an exaggerated show of looking himself over and giving her time to blink a few times.

"No. You look perfect," she said as she stood up and crossed the room to his side. She grinned as she saw the tiny burgundy Rx symbols that were stitched into the navy silk. "Nice tie."

"Wilson," he said with a smirk. "Apparently he only keeps the tasteless ties for himself." He looked her over and placed a hand lightly at the small of her back. "Still ready?"

"Let's go."

* * *

Cameron was feeling much less ready an hour later. It was almost ten-thirty and she still hadn't been called to testify. Instead, she and House were sitting on an uncomfortably hard bench just outside the courtroom, with a bailiff standing beside the door and random people passing by in a continuous stream. The mix of nausea and butterflies in her stomach reminded her of every final exam she'd ever taken multiplied exponentially, and her fingers nervously clutched at her pocketbook when she wasn't rubbing her clammy palms against her thighs. 

"You're clenching," House said from beside her. He seemed outwardly calm, but a tiny twitch of his jaw muscle gave him away.

"I always clench," she replied, needing to fall into some familiar banter to try and push down her anxiety.

"You're not the one on trial."

"Then why am I so scared that I think I'll fall over when I stand up?" She was staring straight ahead at the frieze of Washington crossing the Delaware which covered the opposite wall.

House moved a fraction closer to her. "Because you're human," he replied, and then placed his strong left hand over both of hers.

She raised her head and when their eyes met a hundred words passed between them in an instant. House's hand tightened around hers and she started breathing again. People continued to pass by them, some stopping to ask the bailiff which trial was going on inside, some just going from one end of the building to the other. House never moved his hand.

The courtroom doors opened and Cameron swore she felt a blast of ice-cold air hit her face. It had to be the air conditioning, but it still sent goosebumps racing across her flesh.

"Allison Cameron?" Another bailiff, this one standing just inside the courtroom, called her name.

"Oh, God," she murmured under her breath and then she stood up, surprised that she wasn't shaking more, and answered, "Here… I mean, I'm Allison Cameron."

"You've just been called to the stand."

Cameron hadn't noticed that House had stood up next to her, but she noticed when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Can we have a second?" he asked, gruffly.

"Sir, she's been called."

"A. Second." House repeated, his eyes filling in for the words 'that wasn't really a request'.

The bailiff didn't look pleased but he turned to face away from them while Cameron looked up at House questioningly. He was facing her now, both hands on her shoulders, rubbing a circular pattern with his thumbs even though he knew she could barely feel it through the thick material.

"House?"

"You don't need me here. You don't need me to tell you that you're stronger than the bastard sitting in there, and worth about five hundred of him. You don't need me to tell you that I love you… but I want to." He pulled her close before any more embarrassing emotions could spill from either of them. Then roughly, against her ear, her repeated, "I love you," and left a phantom kiss on her cheek as he pulled away.

Cameron knew that it was cliched and hackneyed and pathetically overdone, but as House pulled away she felt her stomach settle and her strength return. The sound of her footsteps made the bailiff turn around and he gave both of them a stern look before leading Cameron into the courtroom and down the long aisle to the witness box. House passed through the door right after them and yet another bailiff directed him to take a seat but he refused, instead standing against the wall, completely visible from the front of the court.

The witness stand, like in so many courtroom dramas, was slightly raised, and surrounded by heavy oak partitions. Those low walls gave Cameron a sense of security and House's presence gave her peace of mind, and with every breath she felt herself growing calmer. Even when she looked over at the defendant's table and saw Anthony Prentis sitting there, staring at her, she didn't feel the heart wrenching fear she was expecting. He had attacked her. Shot her. Raped and killed another woman. But now he was the one whose life was over and she was still gloriously alive, and feeling more alive with each passing day. That crystalline moment of realization would be the one thing she remembered forever about her time on the stand. Then, ADA Atherton stepped in between Prentis' gaze and her, and the questioning began.

She answered them by rote, looking at Atherton, and sometimes the jury, but mainly seeing past all of them and catching glints of blue from the back wall. Her emotions welled up as she described being shot, but they were honest emotions and she wasn't ashamed any more when a thin veil of tears shadowed her vision for a moment and cracked her voice. As Atherton had suspected, Prentis' lawyer decided against questioning her, and the judge, released her with the standard words 'you may step down'.

Cameron stepped down and kept walking. She had been told that following her testimony, she would be allowed to sit in on the rest of the trial, but she walked past all of the benches and straight towards the door. House was there just a moment before her, and he, not an impersonal bailiff, held the door for her before silently falling into step beside her.

Remaining silent, they walked down the halls of the courthouse, through the metal detectors, through the heavy front doors and down the steps to the sidewalk. Cameron drew in the deepest breath she could ever remember taking, and shrugged out of her jacket. She tilted her head back as House stepped beside her, his mouth curving up almost imperceptibly.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" She said, sunlight washing over her face, eyes turned brightly towards him.

He squinted up at the sky, pale blue with wispy clouds dancing around the sun. "Not bad," he replied, slowly reaching over to curve his hand around hers, "and getting better all the time."


	32. Epilogue

_Here it is... the final installment... sniff,sniff I'm feeling all nostaligic already! Writing this has been a great experience for me, and I'm so glad that so many of you have enjoyed it as well. I hope that you're all pleased and content with the ending... and yes, a sequel is bouncing around in my head... maybe in a few weeks after I give my brain a little rest._

_ And now for the favor... I know I've never asked for reviews (although I have SO appreciated every one I've received!) but now I am. I'm just curious as to how many people have been reading, so I'm asking you to please drop just a short message, especially if you've never reviewed before. Obviously it isn't mandatory and please don't think I've suddenly turned into someone who only writes for the for the feedback ;-)  
_

_ Thank you all for sticking with this for so long... you've been absolutely wonderful._

Epilogue

_The most visible joy can only reveal itself to us when we have transformed it within._

_--R.M.Rilke_

Somewhere in the distance a long whine ended in a sharp crack. The sound had been repeated, at various intervals, throughout the day, as citizens throughout Princeton opted to celebrate the founding of their country by breaking one of its laws. Occasionally the sound of an ambulance could also be heard; carting the wounded off for repairs, House had declared. Cameron's light laughter had followed and she'd carried her coffee from the kitchen to the living room.

The townhouse was now as familiar to her as her own apartment, the early feelings of caution and reserve having been long since abandoned. House never told her, but he enjoyed watching her when she was in his little domain. When she wasn't looking, he studied her graceful movements and the careless way she draped herself onto chair or sofa or floor. For a while, every visit had seemed like the next frame in one of those sped-up botanical films. An extra long sigh here, a kicked-off shoe, there, a lazy smile pressed against his bare chest. Hour, by hour, he swore he could see her opening as clearly as any flower. For that short, yet too long, week before the trial she had closed up, but on the day of her testimony she had begun to unfurl again, and now she was in full-bloom. In off moments he wondered if his own subtle transformation had been as obvious. He was certain that no one at the hospital could tell the difference. To them, he was the same irascible bastard he'd always been, but sometimes, alone with Cameron, he caught her looking at him and her thoughtful look spoke of seeing things she'd never noticed before because they hadn't been there.

"Seven letter word for 'affectionate hugging'," Cameron said while drawing an intricate twisting vine in the margins around the crossword puzzle.

House was at the piano, playing appropriately patriotic songs. The pause in between the first and second phrase of 'American Pie' was nearly undetectable. "Snuggle."

A slight nod, and she looked back at the paper. She was lounging on the sofa, soft leather sticking to the backs of her thighs and calves and shoulders. House had wanted to turn on the air conditioner but she had argued against it and insisted on throwing open all the windows instead. Now a warm July breeze circled the room, not really cooling, but tickling over skin and hair.

Cameron didn't mind. She liked the feel of the air on skin she had, for a brief time, expected to keep carefully shrouded forever. Now, clad in a sundress of sheerest white eyelet, with hair piled into a haphazard twist, she felt free. She felt beautiful. Her thumb traced idly over the bottom edge of her scar, barely hidden by thin material. The top of the scar was plainly visible over the low, round neckline, but as she raised her eyes and saw House looking at her while he played, she knew he wasn't seeing it at all.

"Four letter word for noisy kiss."

House looked back at the piano and sped up the tempo for a measure.

"Buss," he answered. "And why are you doing the crossword puzzle? You're not turning into Chase on me, are you?" he continued, with a mock-horrified tone.

A playful smirk danced across her lips. "No, but crossword puzzles do keep your mind active. Or would you rather challenge me to another game of chess?" she asked sweetly.

A full body shudder was his answer and she laughed. House sneered and started playing a rendition of the national anthem. Cameron had handed him two humiliating defeats over the past two weeks and he wasn't eager for another rematch. At least not until he'd finished reading Vukovic's _Art of Attack in Chess_ which he had stashed in his desk drawer at work. In fact, he was almost considering bribing Wilson to play for practice. Hopefully he'd still be able to beat him.

"Are we still going to the fireworks tonight?" Cameron asked brightly, while twirling her pen.

"I never should have told you about Wilson begging us for a date. I thought you'd laugh it off," House said.

"Nice try, House. You're just as big a kid as we are when it comes to shiny things exploding. Don't even bother trying to pretend you're not."

House put on a reasonable facsimile of a scowl and Cameron rolled her eyes.

"I'll buy you an ice-cream and one of those glow in the dark necklaces," she jokingly wheedled.

"Hmm. Two necklaces and you don't get to steal any of my ice-cream."

Cameron's grin had taken possession of her face as she nodded agreement before turning back to the paper. A few moments of silence passed and then House started playing again; the nocturne that Cameron loved.

"Six letter word for desperate need. Starts with a 'd'."

"Desire," House answered as the music swelled. "What is that, the Playboy crossword?"

Her soft laugh drifted to his ears and he continued playing.

He turned as he heard Cameron toss section D of the Sunday paper onto the floor, where it landed softly on sections A, B, C, E and F. They had read everything of interest while eating breakfast, reading especially interesting or amusing stories aloud and passing pages back and forth. On the front page of section B, below the fold, was one article neither of them read, because both of them already knew it by heart. Anthony Prentis had been found guilty by a jury of his peers over two weeks earlier, and on Friday the judge had sentenced him to what would amount to a lifetime behind bars. Cameron had been invited to go to the sentencing hearing, but she had declined and Atherton had called her with the news instead. Other than that blip in their routine, the day had been like any other in their slowly intertwining life.

Cameron let the pen slip from her fingers onto the stack of paper and closed her eyes as House continued playing. When the song ended, she heard the light scraping of the piano bench being pushed back, and then the muffled thump of House's footsteps and cane. She felt his warmth beside her and looked up to see his hand outstretched as if to help her up. Her eyelashes fluttered as she met his gaze with a coyly quizzical look.

House's eyes went from the completely blank, yet heavily decorated crossword puzzle to the hall that led to the bedroom. "You think I can't take a hint?"

Cameron ignored her rising blush, placed her hand in his, and allowed him to pull her to her feet and flush against his body. "Nope. I know just how smart you are."

The familiar smirk slid into place. "Such shameless flattery, Doctor."

She looked up at him with satisfaction. "Works every time."

He left his cane leaning against the end-table and draped an arm around Cameron's shoulder instead as he directed her down the hall.

_So this is what this feels like._

It was a sentence he'd repeated to himself almost every day since the first time it had occurred to him. It never got old, and the feeling of slightly bewildered awe remained the same. They reached the bedroom door, and Cameron paused and turned towards him, raising one hand to touch his jaw, just because she could. House looked in her eyes, wide and unveiled, and saw his own thoughts reflected back at him. _Yes, this is what this feels like_.


End file.
